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A  SON  OF  THE  SOIL. 


^  Not)d. 


NEWYOKK: 
HARPER   &   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE. 
Stereotyped  by  Littell,  Son.  Sf  Co.,  Boston. 

1865. 


OH" 


A    SON 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  I  SAY,  you  boy,  it  always  rains  here, 
doesn't  it? — or  '  wliiles  enaws  ' — as  the  abo- 
rigines say.  You're  a  native,  aren't  you? 
When  do  you  think  the  rain  will  go  off? — 
do  you  ever  have  any  fine  weather  here  ?  I 
don't  see  the  good  of  a  fine  country  when  it 
rains  for  ever  and  ever  ?  What  do  you  do 
with  yourselves,  you  people,  all  the  year 
round  in  such  a  melancholy  place?  " 

"  You  see  we  know  no  better  " — said  the 
farmer  of  Ramore,  who  came  in  at  the  mo- 
ment to  the  porch  of  his  house,  where  the 
young  gentleman  was  standing,  confronted 
by  young  Colin,  who  would  have  exploded  in 
boyish  rage  before  now,  if  he  had  not  been 
restrained  by  the  knowledge  that  his  mother 
was  within  hearing — "  and,  wet  or  dry,  the 
country-side  comes  natural  to  them  it  belongs 
to.  If  it  werena  for  a  twinge  o'  the  rheu- 
matics noo  and  then, — and  my  lads  are  owre 
young  for  that, — it's  a  grandcountry.  If  it's 
nae  great  comfort  to  the  purse,  it's  aye  a 
pleasure  to  the  e'e.  Come  in  to  the  fire,  and 
take  a  seat  till  the  rain  blows  by.  My  lads," 
said  Colin  of  Ramore,  with  a  twinkle  of  ap- 
probation in  his  eye,  "  take  little  heed 
whether  it's  rain  or  shine." 

"  I'm  of  a  different  opinion,"  said  the 
stranger  ;  "  I  don't  like  walking  up  to  the 
ankles  in  those  filthy  roads." 

He  was  a  boy  of  fifteen  or  so,  the  same  age 
as  young  Colin,  who  stood  opposite  him, 
breathing  hard  with  opposition  and  natural 
enmity  ;  but  the  smart  Etonian  considered 
himself  much  more  a  man  of  the  world  and 
of  experience  than  Colin  the  elder,  and  looked 
on  the  boy  with  calm  contempt. 

"  I'll  be  glad  to  dry  my  boots  if  you'll  let 
me,"  he  said,  holding  up  a  foot  which  beside 
young  Colin 's  sturdy  hoof  looked  preter- 
naturally  small  and  dainty. 

"  A  fit  like  a  lassie's !  "  the  country  boy 
said  to  himself  with  responsive  disdain. 
Young  Colin  laughed  half  aloud  as  his  natu- 
ral enemy  followed  his  father  into  the  house. 


OF    THE    SOIL. 

PART  I. 

<'  He's  feared  to  wet  his  feet,"  said  the  lad, 
with  a  chuckle  of  mockery,  holding  forth  his 
own  which  to  his  consciousness  were  never 
dry.  Any  moralist,  who  had  happened  to  be 
at  hand,  might  have  suggested  to  Colin  that 
a  faculty  for  acquiring  and  keeping  up  wet 
feet  during  every  hour  of  the  twenty-four 
which  he  did  not  spend  in  bed  was  no  great 
matter  to  brag  of:  but  then  moralists  did  not 
flourish  at  Ramore.  The  boy  made  a  rush 
out  through  the  soft-falling,  incessant  rain, 
dashed  down  upon  the  shingly  beach  with  an 
impetuosity  which  dispersed  the  wet  pebbles 
on  all  sides  of  him,  and  jumping  into  the 
boat,  pushed  out  upon  the  loch,  not  for  any 
particular  purpose,  but  to  relieve  a  little  his 
indignation  and  boyish  discomfiture.  The 
boat  was  clumsy  enough,  and  young  Colin 's 
"  style  "  in  rowing  was  not  of  a  high  order ,| 
but  it  caught  the  quick  eye  of  the  Eton  lad, 
as  he  glanced  out  from  the  window. 

"  That  fellow  can  row,"  he  said  to  himself, 
but  aloud,  with  the  nonchalance  of  his  race, 
as  he  went  forward,  passing  the  great  cradle, 
which  stood  on  one  side  of  the  fire,  to  the 
chair  which  the  farmer's  wife  had  placed  for 
him.  She  received  with  many  kindly,  homely 
invitations  and  welcomes  the  serene  young 
potentate  as  he  approached  her  fireside 
throne. 

"  Come  awa — come  in  to  the  fire.  The 
roads  are  past  speaking  o'  in  this  soft  weather. 
Maybe  the  young  gentleman  would  like  to 
change  his  feet,"  said  the  soft-voiced  woman, 
who  sat  in  a  wicker-work  easy-chair,  with  a 
very  small  baby,  and  cheeks  still  pale  from 
its  recent  arrival.  She  had  soft,  dark,  beam- 
ing eyes,  and  the  softest  pink  flush  coming 
and  going  over  her  face,  and  was  wrapped  in 
a  shawl,  and  evidently  considered  an  invalid 
— which,  for  the  mother  of  seven  or  eight 
children,  and  the  mistress  of  Ramore  Farm, 
was  an  honorable  but  inconvenient  luxury. 
"  I  could  bring  you  a  pair  of  my  Colin 's 
stockings  in  a  moment.  I  dare  say  they're 
about  your  size — or  if  you  would  like  to  gang 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


ben  the  house  into  the  spare  room,  and  change 
them — " 

"  Oh,  thanks ;  but  there  is  no  need  for 
that,"  said  the  visitor,  with  a  slight  blush, 
being  conscious,  as  even  an  .Eton  boy  could 
not  help  being,  of  the  humorous  observation 
of  the  farmer,  who  had  come  in  behind  him, 
and  in  whose  eyes  it  was  evident  the  experi- 
enced "  man  "  of  the  fifth  form  was  a  less 
eublime  personage  than  he  gave  himself  credit 
for  being.  "  I  am  living  down  at  the  Castle," 
he  added,  hastily  ;  "  I  lost  my  way  on  the 
hills,  and  got  dreadfully  wet ;  otherwise  I 
don't  mind  the  rain."  And  he  held  the 
dainty  boots,  which  steamed  in  the  heat,  to 
the  fire. 

"  But  you  maunna  gang  out  to  the  hills  in 
Bueh  slight  things  again,"  said  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell, looking  at  them  compassionately  ;  "I'll 
get  you  a  pair  of  my  Coliu's  strong  shoes  and 
etockings  that'll  keep  your  feet  warm.  I'll 
just  lay  the  wean  in  the  cradle,  and  you  can 
slip  them  olf  the  time  I'm  away,"  said  the 
good  woman,  with  a  passing  thought  for  the 
boy's  bashfulness.  But  the  farmer  caught 
her  by  the  arm  and  kept  her  in  her  chair. 

"  I  suppose  there's  mair  folk  than  you 
about  the  house,  Jeanie?  "  said  her  husband, 
"  though  you're  so  positive  about  doing  every- 
thing yoursel'.  I'll  tell  the  lass  ;  and  I  ad- 
vise you,  young  gentleman,  not  to  be  shame- 
faced, but  take  the  wife's  advice,  It's  a 
great  quality  o'  hers  to  ken  what's  good  for 
other  folk." 

"  I  ken  by  mysel',"  said  the  gentle-voiced 
wife,  with  a  smile — and  she  got  up  and  went 
Boftly  to  the  window,  while  the  young  stranger 
took  her  counsel.  "There's  Colin  out  in 
the  boat  again,  in  a  perfect  pour  of  rain," 
she  said  to  herself,  with  a  gentle  sigh — "  he'll 
get  his  death  o'  cauld  ;  but,  to  be  sure,  if  he 
had  been  to  get  his  death  that  gate,  it  would 
have  come  afore  now.  There's  a  great  deal 
of  rain  in  this  country  you'll  be  thinking? — 
a'  the  strangers  say  sae ;.  but  I  canna  sec  that 
they  bide  away,  for  a'  that,  though  they're 
aye  grumbling.  And  if  you're  fond  o'  the 
hills,  you'll  get  reconciled  to  the  rain.  I've 
seen  mony  an  afternoon  when  there  was 
B3arce  an  hour  without  two  or  three  rain- 
bows, and  the  mist  liftin'  and  droppin'  again, 
as  if  it  was  set  to  music.  I  canna  say  I  have 
any  experience  mysel'  ;  but  so  far  as  anc  can 
imagine,  a  clear  sky  and  a  shining  sun,  day 
after  day,  would  be  awfu'  monotonous — like 


a  face  wi'  a  set  smile.  I  tell  the  bairns  it's 
as  guid  as  a  fairy  tale  to  watch  the  clouds — 
and  it's  no  common  sunshine  when  it  does 
come,  but  a  kind  o'  wistful  light,  as  if  he 
couldna  tell  whether  he  ever  might  see  you 
again  ;  but  it's  awfu'  when  the  crops  are  out, 
as  they  are  the  noo — the  Lord  forgive  me  for 
speaking  as  if  I  liked  the  rain  !  " 

And  by  this  time  her  boy-visitor,  having 
succeeded,  much  to  his  comfort  and  disgust, 
in  replacing  his  wet  chaussures  by  Colin's  dry, 
warm  stockings  and  monstrous  shoes,  Mrs. 
Campbell  came  back  to  her  seat  and  lifted  her 
baby  again  on  her  knee.  The  baby  was  of 
angelic  disposition,  and  perfectly  disposed  to 
make  itself  comfortable  in  its  cradle  ;  but  the 
usually  active  mother  evidently  made  it  a  kind 
of  excuse  to  herself  for  her  compulsory  repose. 

"  The  wife  gets  easy  to  her  poetry,"  said 
the  farmer,  with  a  smile,  "  which  is  pleasant 
enough  to  hear,  though  it  doesn't  keep  the 
grain  from  sprouting.  You're  fond  of  the 
hills,  you  Southland  folk  ?  You'll  be  from 
level  land  yoursel',  I  reckon? — where  a'  the 
craps  were  safe  housed  afore  the  weather 
broke?  We  have  uae  particular  reason  to 
complain  yet,  if  we  could  but  make  sure  o' 
a  week's  or  twa's  dry  weather.  It'll  be  the 
holidays  still  witb  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  young  Frankland,  slightly  dis- 
gusted at  being  so  calmly  set  down  as  a  school- 
boy. 

"  I  hear  there's  some  grand  schools  in 
England,"  said  Mrs.  Campbell;  "no'  that 
they're  to  compare  wi'  Edinburgh,  I  suppose? 
Colin ,  there's  some  sherry  wine  in  the  press  ;  I 
think  a  glass  wouldna'  harm  the  young  gen- 
tleman after  his  waiting.  He'll  take  some- 
thing anyway,  if  you  would  tell  Jess.  It's 
hungry  work  climbing  our  hills  for  a  laddie 
like  you,  at  least  if  I  may  reckon  by  my  ain 
laddies  that  are  aye  ready  at  mealtimes,"  said 
the  farmer's  wife,  with  a  gracious  smile 
that  would  not  have  misbecome  a  duchess. 
"  You'll  be  at  ane  o'  the  great  schools,  I  sup- 
pose? I  aye  like  to  learn  what  I  can  when 
there's  ony  opportunity.  I  would  like  my 
Colin  to  get  a'  the  advantages,  for  he's  well 
worthy  o'  a  guid  education,  though  we're 
rather  out  of  the  way  of  it  here." 

"  I  am  at  Eton,"  said  the  English  boy,  who 
could  scarcely  refrain  from  a  little  ridicule  at 
the  idea  of  sharing  "  a'  the  advantages"  of 
that  distinguished  foundation  with  a  colt  like 
young  Colin  ;  "  but  I  should  think  you  would 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


find  it  too  far  off  to  send  your  son  there,"  he 
added,  all  his  good  breeding  being  unable  to 
smother  a  slight  laugh  as  he  looked  round  the 
homely  apartment  and  wondered  what  "  all 
the  fellows"  would  say  to  a  schoolfellow  from 
Ramore. 

"  Nac  occasion  to  laugh,  young  gentle- 
man," said  Colin  the  elder;  "there's  been 
lord  chancellors  o'  England,  and  generals  o' 
a'  the  forces,  that  have  come  out  of  houses 
nae  better  than  this.  I  am  just  as  ye  find  me  ; 
but  I  wouldna'  say  what  might  befall  our  Co- 
lin. In  this  country  there's  nae  law  to  bind 
a  man  to  the  same  line  o'  life  as  his  fathers. 
Despise  naebody,  my  man,  or  you  may  live  to 
be  despised  in  your  turn." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  young  Frank- 
land,  blushing  hotly,  and  feeling  Colin 's  shoes 
weigh  upon  his  feet  like  lead  ;  "  I  did  not 
intend — " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Campbell,  soothingly  ; 
"  it's  the  maister  that  takes  up  fancies  ;  but 
nae  doubt  Eton  is  far  ower-expensive  for  the 
like  of  us,  and  a  bit  callant  like  you  may 
laugh  without  .ony  offence.  "When  Colin 
comes  to  be  a  man  he'll  make  h'.s  ain  com- 
pany, or  I'm  mistaen  ;  but  I've  '^lO  wish  to  pit 
him  among  lords  and  gentlenien's  sons  that 
would  jeer  at  his  homely  ways.  And  they 
tell  me  there's  schules  in  Edinburgh  far  afore 
anything  that's  kent  in  England — besides  the 
college,"  said  the  toother,  with  a  little  pride  ; 
"  our  Colin's  done  with  his  schuling.  Edu- 
cation takes  longer  wi '  the  like  of  you .  After 
Martinmas  he's  gaun  in  to  Glasgow  to  begin 
his  course.'" 

To  this  proud  intimation  the  young  visitor 
listened  in  silence,  not  being  able  to  connect 
the  roughshod  lad  in  the  boat,  with  a  uni- 
versity, whatever  might  be  its  form.  He  ad- 
dressed himself  to  the  scones  and  butter  which 
Jess  the  servant,  a  handsome,  powerful  woman 
of  five  feet  ten  or  so,  had  set  before  him  on 
the  table.  Jess  lingered  a  little  ere  she  left 
the  room,  to  pinch  the  baby's  cheeks,  and  say, 
"  Bless  the  lamb  !  eh,  what  a  guid  bairn  !  " 
with  patriarchal  friendly  familiarity.  Mean- 
while, the  farmer  sat  down,  with  a  thump 
which  made  it  creak,  upon  the  large  old  hair- 
cloth sofa  which  filled  up  one  end  of  the  room. 

"  I've  heard  there's  a  great  difference  be- 
tween our  colleges  and  the  colleges  in  Eng- 
land," said  Colin.  "  Wi'  you  they  dinna 
train  a  lad  to  ony  thing  in  particular  ;  wi'  us 
it's  a'  for  a  profession, — the  kirk,  or  the  law 


or  physic,  as  it  may  be, — a  fair  mair  sensible 
system.  I'm  no  sure  it's  just  civil,  though," 
said  the  farmer,  with  a  quaint  mingling  of 
Scotch  complacency  and  Scotch  politeness, 
"  to  talk  to  a  stranger  of  naething  but  the  in- 
feriority o'  his  ain  country.  It  may  be  a' 
true* enough,  but  there's  pleasanter  topics  o' 
discourse.  The  Castle's  a  bonnie  situation  ? 
and  if  you're  fond  o'  the  water,  yachting 
and  boating,  and  that  kind  o'  thing,  there's 
grand  opportunity  amang  our  lochs." 

"  We've  got  a  yacht,"  said  the  boy,  who 
found  the  scones  much  to  his  taste,  and  be- 
gan to  feel  a  glow  of  comfort  diffusing  itself 
through  his  inner  man — ' '  the  fastest  sailer  I 
know.  We  made  a  little  run  yesterday  down 
to  the  Kyles  ;  but  Sir  Thomas  prefers  the 
grouse,  though  it's  awfully  hard  work,  I  can 
tell  you,  going  up  those  hills.  It's  so  beastly 
wet,"  said  the  young  hero,  "  I  never  was 
down  here  before  ;  but  Sir  Thomas  comes 
every  year  to  the  Highlands — he  likes  it — 
he's  as  string  as  a  horse ;  but  I  prefer  the 
yacht,  for  my  part." 

"  And  who's  Sir  Thomas,  if  ane  may  speer 
— some  friend?  "  said  the  farmer's  wife. 

"  Oh — he 's  my  father !  "  said  the  Etonian  ; 
and  a  natural  flush  of  shamefacedness  at  ac- 
knowledging such  a  relationship  rose  upon 
the  countenance  of  the  British  boy. 

"  Yourfather  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Campbell,  with 
some  amazement,  "  that's  an  awfu'  queer 
way  to  speak  of  your  father  ;  and  have  you 
ony  brothers  and  sisters  that  you're  thislang 
distance  off  your  lane, — and  your  mamma 
may  be  anxious  about  you  ?  "  continued  the 
kind  mother,  with  a  wistful  look  of  inquiry. 
She  was  prepared  to  be  sorry  for  him,  con- 
cluding that  a  boy  who  spoke  of  a  father  in 
such  terms,  must  be  motherless,  and  a  neg- 
lected child.  It  was  the  most  tender  kind 
of  curiosity  which  animated  the  good  woman. 
She  formed  a  theory  about  the  lad  on  the  spot, 
as  women  do,  and  concluded  that  his  cruel 
father  paid  no  regard  to  him,  and  that  the 
boy's  heart  had  been  hardened  by  neglect  and 
want  of  love.  "  Figure  our  Colin  ca'ing  the 
maister  ]\Ir.  Campbell !  "  she  said  to  herselt, 
and  looked  very  pitifully  at  young  Frank- 
land,  who  ate  his  scone  without  any  conscious- 
ness of  her  amiable  imaginations. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  afraid,"  said  the  calm  youth, 
"  She  knows  better;  there's  ten  of  us,  and 
some  one  of  the  family  comes  to  grief  most 
days,  you  know.     She's  used  to  that.     Be- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


sides,  I'll  get  home  long  before  Sir  Thomas. 
It's  only  four  now,  and  I  suppose  one  could 
walk  down  from  here — how  soon  ?  ' '  All  this 
time  he  went  on  so  steadily  at  the  scones  and 
the  milk,  that  the  heart  of  the  farmer's  wife, 
warmed  to  the  possessor  of  such  a  frank  and 
appreciative  appetite. 

"  You  might  put  the  horse  in  the  gig  and 
drive  the  young  gentleman  down,"  said  the 
soft-hearted  woman,  "  or  Colin  could  row 
him  in  the  boat  as  far  as  the  pier.  It's  a 
lang  walk  for  such  a  callant,  and  you're  no 
thrang.  It's  awfu'  to  think  o'  the  rain  how 
it's  taking  the  bread  out  of  us  poor  folk's 
mouths  ;  but  to  be  sure  it's  the  Lord's  will — 
if  it  be  na,"  said  the  homely  speculatist, 
"  that  the  weather's  ane  of  the  things  that 
has  been  permitted,  for  wise  reasons,  to  fa' 
into  Ither  Hands  ;  and  I'm  sure,  judging  by 
the  way  it  comes  just  when  it  is  no'  wanted, 
ane  might  think  so,  mony  a  time  in  this  coun- 
try side.  But  ah  !  its  sinfu'  to  speak, — and 
look  at  yon  bonnie  rainbow,"  she  continued, 
turning  to  the  window  with  her  baby  in  her 
arms.  Young  Frankland  got  up  slowly  as  he 
finished  his  scone.  He  was  only  partially 
sensible  of  the  extreme  beauty  of  the  scene 
before  him  ;  but  the  farmer's  wife  stood  with 
her  baby  in  her  arms,  with  hidden  lights 
kindling  in  her  soft  eyes,  expanding  and  beam- 
ing over  the  lovely  landscape.  It  did  her 
good  like  a  cordial ;  though  even  Colin,  her 
sensible  husband,  looked  on  with  a  smile  upon 
his  good-humored  countenance,  and  was  a  lit- 
tle amused  and  much  puzzled,  as  he  had  been 
a  hundred  times  before,  seeing'  his  wife's 
pleasure  in  those  common  and  every-day  proc- 
esses of  nature,  to  know  why. 

Young  Colin  in  the  boat  understood  better, 
— he  was  lying  on  his  oars  gazing  at  it  the 
same  moment ;  arrested  in  his  petulant,  boy- 
ish thoughts,  as  she  had  been  in  her  anxieties, 
the  lad  came  out  of,  and  lost  himself  in  tlae 
scene.  The  sun  had  come  out  suddenly  upon 
the  noble  range  of  hills  which  stretched  across 
the  upper  end  of  the  loch — that  wistful,  ten- 
der sun  which  shone  out,  dazzling  with  pa- 
thetic gleams  of  sudden  love  in  this  country, 
"  as  if  he  couldna  tell  whether  he  might  ever 
see  j'ou  again,"  as  Mrs.  Campbell  said — and 
just  catching  the  skirts  of  the  rain,  had  flung 
a  double  rainbow  across  the  lovely  curve  of 
the  upper  banks.  One  side  of  the  arch,  stoop- 
ing over  the  heathery  hillside,  lighted  it  up 
with  an  unearthly  glory,  and  the  other  came 


down  in  stately  columns,  one  grand  sEaft; 
within  the  other,  with  a  solid  magnificence 
and  steadiness,  into  the  water.  Young  Frank- 
land,  at  the  window,  could  not  help  thinking 
within  himself,  what  a  beautiful  picture  it 
would  make,  "  if  any  of  those  painter  fellows 
could  do  a  rainbow  ;  "  but  as  for  young  Colin 
in  the  boat,  the  impulse  in  his  heart  was  to 
dash  up  to  those  heavenly  archways,  and  em- 
brace the  shining  pillar,  and  swing  himself 
aloft  half-boy,  half-poet,  to  the  celestial  world, 
where  fiery  columns  could  stand  fast  upon 
moving  waters — and  all  was  true,  but  noth- 
ing real.  The  hills  for  their  share,  lay  very 
quiet,  taking  no  part  in  the  momentary  drama 
of  the  elements;  standing  passive,  letting  the 
sudden  light  search  them  over  and  over,  as 
if  seeking  for  hidden  treasure.  Just  in  the 
midst  of  the  blackness  of  the  rain,  never  was 
light  and  joy  so  sweet  and  sudden.  The 
farmer's  wife  came  away  from  the  window 
with  a  sigh  of  pleasure,  as  the  baby  stirred 
in  her  arms  ;  "Eh,  but  the  world's  bonnie, 
bonnie  !  "  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  feeling 
that  some  event  of  joyful  importance  had  just 
been  enacted  before  her.  As  for  the  boy  on 
the  loch,  who,  being  younger,  was  more  ab- 
stracted from  common  affairs,  his  dream  was 
interrupted  loudly  by  a  call  from  the  door. 
"  Come  in  wi'  the  boat ;  I've  a  message  to  gie 
ye  for  the  pier,"  cried  the  farmer,  at  the  top 
of  his  voice  ;  and  the  country  boy  started 
back  to  himself,  and  made  a  dash  at  his  oars, 
and  pulled  inshore  as  violently  and  unhand- 
somely as  if  the  nature  of  his  dreams  had 
been  found  out,  and  he  was  ashamed  of  him- 
self. Colin  forgot  all  the  softening  influences 
of  the  scene,  and  all  the  fine  thoughts  that 
had,  unconscious  to  himself,  come  into  his 
head,  when  he  found  that  the  commission  his 
father  meant  to  give  him,  was  that  of  rowing 
the  stranger  boy  as  far  as  the  pier,  which  was 
about  three  miles  farther  down  the  loch.  If 
disobedience  had  been  an  ofience  understood 
at  Ramore,  possibly  he  might  have  refused  ; 
but  neither  boy  nor  man,  however  well  in- 
clined, is  likely  to  succeed  in  doing,  the  first 
time  of  trying,  a  kind  of  sin  Avith  which  he 
has  no  acquaintance.  To  give  Colin  justice, 
he  did  his  best,  and  showed  a  cordial  inclina- 
tion to  make  himself  disagreeable.  lie  came 
in  so  clumsily  that  the  boat  grounded  a  yard 
or  two  ofi"  shore,  and  would  not  by  any  coax- 
ing be  persuaded  to  approach  nearer.  And 
when  young  Frankland,  much  to  his  amaze- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


ment,  leaped  on  board  without  wetting  his 
feet,  as  the  counti-y  lad  maliciously  intended, 
and  came  against  Colin  with  such  force  as 
almost  to  knock  him  down,  the  young  boat- 
man thrust  his  passenger  forward  very  rudely, 
and  was  as  near  capsizing  the  boat  as  pride 
would  permit  him.  "  Sit  forrit  in  the  stern, 
sit  forrit.  Were  ye  never  in  a  boat  afore, 
that  ye  think  I  can  row,  and  you  sitting 
there  ?  ' '  said  the  unchristian  Colin ,  bringing 
one  of  the  oars  heavily  against  his  adversary's 
shins. 

"What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  by  that? 
Give  me  the  oar  ! 
on  the  Thames,  I 

Btranger ;  and  the  brief  skirmish  between 
them  for  the  possession  of  the  oar  having  ter- 
minated abruptly  by  the  intervention  of  Colin 
the  elder,  who  was  still  within  hearing,  the 
two  boys  set  off,  sullenly  enough,  down  the 
loch.  The  rainbow  was  dying  off  by  this 
time,  and  the  clouds  rolling  up  again  over 
the  hills  ;  and  the  celestial  pillars  and  heav- 
enly archways  had  no  longer,  as  may  be  sup- 
posed, since  this  rude  invasion  of  the  real  and 
disagreeable,  the  least  morsel  of  foundation 
in  the  thoughts  of  young  Colin  of  Kamore. 


We  don't  row  like  that 
can   tell  you,"  said   the 


CHAPTER  n. 

"Ye  saw  the  young  gentleman  safe  to  the 
pier  ?  He's  a  bonnie  lad ,  though  maybe  no  as 
weel-mannered  as  ane  would  like  to  see,"  said 
Mrs.  Campbell.  "  Keep  me !  such  a  way  to 
name  his  father !  Bairns  maun  be  awfu' 
neglected  in  such  a  grand  house — aye  left  wi' 
servants,  and  never  trained  to  trust  their  bits 
of  secrets  to  father  or  mother.  Laddies," 
said  the  farmer's  wife,  with  a  little  solem- 
nity, looking  across  the  sleeping  baby  upon 
the  four  heads  of  different  sizes  which  bent 
over  their  supper  at  the  table  before  her, 
"  mind  you  aye,  that,  right  or  wrong,  them 
that's  maist  interested  in  whatever  befalls 
you  is  them  that  belongs  to  you — maist  ready 
to  praise  if  ye've  done  weel,  and  excuse  you 
if  ye've  done  wrang.  I  hope  you  were  civil 
to  the  strange  callant,  Colin,  my  man?  " 

"  Oh,  ay,"  said  young  Colin,  not  without 
a  movement  of  conscience ;  but  he  did  not 
think  it  necessary  to  enter  into  details. 

"When  a  callant  like  that  is  pridefu',  and 
looks  as  if  he  thought  himself  better  than 
other  folk ,  I  hope  my  laddies  are  no  the  ones 
to  mind,"  said  the  mistress  of  Ramore.  "  It 
shows  he  hasna  had    the  advantages  that 


might  have  been  expected.  It's  nae  harm  to 
you,  but  a  great  deal  of  harm  to  him.  Ye 
dinna  ken  how  weel  off  you  are,  you  boys," 
said  the  mother,  making  a  little  address  to 
them  as  they  sat  over  their  supper ;  little 
Johnnie,  whose  porridge  was  too  hot  for  him, 
turned  towards  her  the  round,  wondering 
black  eyes,  which  beamed  out  like  a  pair  of 
stray  stars  from  his  little  freckled  face,  and 
through  his  wisps  of  flaxen  hair,  bleached 
white  by  rain  and  sun  ;  but  the  three  others 
went  on  very  steadily  with  their  supper,  and 
did  not  disturb  themselves ;  "  there's  aye  your 
father  at  hand  ready  to  tell  ye  whatever  you 
want  to  ken — no  like  yon  poor  callant,  that 
would  have  to  gang  to  a  tutor,  or  a  servant, 
or  something  worse  ;  no  that  he's  an  ill  lad- 
die— but  I'm  aye  keen  to  see  ye  behave  your- 
sels  like  gentlemen,  and  yon  wasna  ony  great 
specimen,  as  it  was  very  easy  to  see." 

After  this  there  was  a  pause,  for  none  of 
the  boys  were  disposed  to  enter  into  that  topic 
of  conversation.  After  a  little  period  of  si- 
lence, during  which  the  spoons  made  a  diver- 
sion, and  filled  up  the  vacancy,  they  began  to 
find  their  tongues  again. 

"It's  awfu'  wet  up  on  the  hill,"  said 
Archie,  the  second  boy  ;  "  and  they  say  the 
glass  is  aye  falling,  and  the  corn  on  the  Barn- 
ton  fields  has  been  out  this  three  weeks,  and 
Dugald  Macfarlane,  he  says  its  sprouting — 
and,  0  mother!  " 

What  is  it,  Archie  ?  " 

"  The  new  minister  came  by  when  I  was 
down  at  the  smiddy  with  the  brown  mare. 
You  never  saw  such  a  red  head.  It  is  red 
enough  to  set  the  kirk  on  fire.  They  were 
saying  at  the  smiddy  that  naebody  would 
stand  such  a  color  of  hair — it's  waur  than  no 
preaching  weel — and  I  said  I  thought  that 
too,"  said  the  enterprising  Archie;  "for  I'm 
sure  I  never  mind  ony  o'  the  sermon,  but  I 
couldna  forget  such  red  hair." 

"  And  I  saw  him  too,"  said  little  Johnnie ; 
"  he  clapped  me  on  the  head,  and  said  how 
was  my  mammaw,  and  I  said  we  never  ca'ed 
onybody  mammaw,  but  just  mother ;  and  then 
he  clapped  me  again,  and  said  I  was  a  good 
boy.  What  for  was  I  a  good  boy?"  said 
Johnnie,  who  was  of  an  inquiring  and  philo- 
sophical frame  of  mind,  "  because  I  said  we 
didna  say  mammaw?  or  just  because  it  was 
me?"  , 

"  Because  he's  a  kind  man,  and  has  a  kind 
thought  for  even  the  little  bairns,"  said  Mrs. 


8 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


Campbell,  "  and  it  wasna  like  a  boy  o'  miue 
to  say  an  idle  word  against  him.  Do  you 
think  they  know  better  at  the  smiddy,  Archie, 
than  here?  Poor  gentleman,"  said  the  good 
woman,  "to  be  a'  this  time  weary  in'  and 
waitin',  and  his  heart  ycavnin'  within  him 
to  get  a  kirk,  and  do  his  Master's  work  ;  and 
then  to  ha'e  a  parcel  of  havercls  set  up,  and 
make  a  faction  against  him  because  he  has  a 
red  head.  It  makes  ane  think  shame  o'  hu- 
man nature  and  Scotch  folk  baith." 

"  But  he  canna  preach,  mother,"  said 
Colin,  breaking  silence  almost  for  the  first 
time  ;  "  the  red  head  is  only  an  excuse." 

"  I  dinna  like  excuses,"  said  his  mother, 
"and  I  never  kent  before  that  you  were  a 
judge  o'  preaching.  You  may  come  to  ken 
better  about  it  yoursel'  before  a'  's  done.  I 
canna  but  think  there's  something  wrang 
when  the  like  o'  that  can  be,"  said  Mrs. 
Campbell;  "  he's  studied,  and  he's  learned 
Latin  and  Greek,  and  found  out  a'  the  ill 
that  can  be  said  about  Scripture,  and  a'  the 
lies  that  ever  have  been  invented  against  the 
truth  ;  and  he's  been  brought  up  to  be  a 
minister  a'  his  days,  and  knows  what's  ex- 
pected. But  as  soon  as  word  gangs  about 
that  the  earl  has  promised  him  our  kirk, 
t'lere's  opposition  raised.  No'  that  onybody 
kens  ony  ill  of  him  ;  but  there's  the  smith, 
and  the  wright,  and  Thomas  Scott  o'  Lint- 
wearie,  maun  lay  their  heads  thegether,  and 
first  they  say  he  canna  preach,  and  then  that 
he'll  no'  visit,  and  at  least  if  a'thing  else 
fails,  that  he  has  a  red  head.  If  ifr  was  a 
new  doctor  that  was  coming,  wha  would  be 
heeding  about  the  color  o'  his  hair  ?  but  it's 
the  minister  that's  to  stand  by  our  death-beds, 
and  baptize  our  bairns,  and  guide  us  in  the 
right  way  ;  and  we're  no'  to  let  him  come  in 
peace,  or  sit  down  in  comfort.  If  we  canna 
keep  him  from  getting  the  kirk,  we  can  make 
him  miserable  when  he  does  get  it.  Eh, 
bairns ;  I  think  shame !  and  I'm  no'  so  sure 
as  I  am  in  maist  things,"  said  the  farmer's 
wife,  looking  up  with  a  consciousness  of  her 
husband's  presence.;  "  that  the  maister  him- 
sel— " 

"  Weel  I'm  aye  for  popular  rights,"  said 
Colin  of  Ramore.  lie  had  just  come  in,  and 
had  been  standing  behind  taking  off  his  big 
coat,  on  which  the  rain  glistened,  and  listen- 
ing to  all  that  his  wifo  said,  "  But  if  Colin 
was  a  man  and  a  minister,"  said  the  farmer, 


with  a  gleam  of  humor,  as  he  drew  his  chair 
towards  the  fire,  "  and  had  to  fight  his  way 
to  a  kirk  like  a'  the  young  men  now-a-days, 
I  wouldna  say  I  would  like  it.  They  might 
object  to  his  big  mouth  ;  and  you've  ower 
mucklea  mouth  yourself,  Jeanie,"  continued 
big  Colin,  looking  admiringly  at  the  comely 
mother  of  liis  boys.  "  I  might  tell  them 
wha'  he  took  it  from,  and  that  if  he  had  as 
grand  a  flow  of  language  as  his  mother,  there 
would  be  nae  fear  o'  him.  As  for  the  red 
head,  the  earl  himsel's  a  grand  example,  and 
if  red  hair's  right  in  an  earl,  it  canna  be  im- 
moral in  a  minister;  but  Jeanie,  tliough 
you're  an  awfu'  revolutionary,  yc  maunna 
meddle  with  the  kirk,  nor  take  away  popu- 
lar rights." 

"  I'm  no  gaun  to  be  led  into  an  argument," 
said  the  mistress,  with  a  slightly  vexed  ex- 
pression ;  "  but  I'm  far  from  sure  about  the 
kirk.  After  you've  opposed  the  minister's 
coming  in,  and  holden  committees  upon  him, 
and  offered  objections,  and  done  your  best  to 
worry  the  life  out  o'  him,  and  make  him  dis- 
gusted baith  at  himsel'  and  you,  do  you  think 
after  that  ye  can  attend  to. him  when  you're 
weel,  and  send  for  him  when  you're  sick,  wi' 
the  right  feelings  ?  But  I'm  no  gaun  to  speak 
ony  mair  about  the  minister.  Is  the  corn  in 
yet,  Colin,  from  the  East  Park?  Eh,  bless 
me !  and  it  was  cut  before  this  wean  was 
born  !  " 

"  We'll  have  but  a  poor  harvest  after  a'," 
said  the  farmer  ;  "  it's  a  disappointment,  but 
it  canna  be  helpit.  It's  strange  how  some- 
thing aye  comes  in,  to  keep  a  man  down 
when  he  thinks  he's  to  have  a  bit  margin ; 
but  we  must  jog  on,  Jeanie,  my  woman.  As 
long  as  we  have  bread  to  eat,  let  us  be  thank- 
ful. And  as  for  Colin,  it  necdua  make  ony 
difference.  Glasgow's  no  so  far  off,  but  he 
can  still  get  his  parritch  out  of  the  family 
meal ;  and  as  long  as  he's  careful  and  dili- 
gent we'll  try  and  fend  for  him.  It's  hard 
work  getting  bread  out  of  our  hillside,"  said 
big  Coliu  ;  "  but  ye  may  have  a  different  life 
from  your  father's,  lad,  if  ye  take  heed  to  the 
opportunities  in  your  hands." 

"  A'  the  opportunities  in  the  world,"  said 
Colin  the  younger,  in  a  burst,  "  wouldna  give 
me  a  chance  like  yon  English  fellow.  Every- 
thing comes  ready  to  him.  It's  no  fair.  Til 
have  to  make  up  wi'  him  first,  and  then  beat 
him — and  so  I  would,"  said  the  boy,  with  a 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


9 


glow  on  his  face ,  and  a  happy  unconscious- 
ness of  contradicting  himself,  "  if  I  had  the 
chance." 

"  Well,"  said  big  Colin,  "  that's  just  ane 
o'  the  things  we  have  to  count  upon  in  our 
way  of  living.  It's  little  ci-edit  to  a  man  to 
be  strong,"  said  the  farmer,  stretching  his 
great  arms  with  a  natural  consciousness  of 
power,  "  unless  he  has  that  to  do  that  tries 
it.  It's  harder  work  to  me,  you  may  be  sure, 
to  get  a  pickle  corn  oflF  the  hillside,  than  for 
the  English  farmers  down  in  yon  callant's 
country  to  draw  wheat  and  fatness  out  o' 
i,heir  furrows.  But  I  think  myself  nana  the 
worse  a  man,"  continued  Colin  of  Ramore, 
with  a  smile.  "Sir  Thomas,  as  the  laddie 
ca's  him,  gangs  wading  over  the  heather  a' 
day  after  the  grouse  and  the  paitricks ;  he 
thinks  he's  playing  himsel',  but  he's  as  hard 
at  work  as  I  am.  We're  a'  bluid  relations, 
though  the  family  likeness  whiles  lies  deep 
and  is  hard  to  find.  A  man  maun  be  fight- 
ing wi'  something.  If  it's  no  the  dour  earth 
that  refuses  him  bread,  it's  the  wet  bog,  and 
the  heather  that  comes  atween  him  and  his 
sport,  as  he  ca's  it.  Never  you  mind  wha's 
before  you  on  the  road.  Make  up  to  him, 
Colin.  Many  a  day  he'll  stray  out  o'  the 
path  gathering  straws  to  divert  himself,  wlien 
you've  naething  to  do  but  to  push  on." 

"Eh,  but  I  wouldna  like  a  laddie  of  mine 
to  think,"  interrupted  his  mother,  eagerly, 
"  that  there's  nae  guid  but  getting  on  in  the 
world.  I'll  not  have  my  bairns  learn  ony 
such  lesson.  Laddies,"  said  the  farmer's  wife, 
in  all  the  solemnity  of  her  innocence,  "  mind 
you  this  aboon  a'.  You  might  be  princes  the 
morn,  and  no  as  good  men  as  your  father. 
There's  nae  Sir  Thomases,  nor  earls,  nor  lord 
chancellors  I  ever  heard  tell  o',  that  was  mair 
thought  upon  nor  wi'  better  reason — " 

At  this  moment  Jess  entered  from  the 
kitchen,  to  suggest  that  it  was  bedtime. 

"  And  lang  enough  for  the  mistress  to  be 
sitting  up,  and  she  so  delicate,"  said  the  sole 
servant  of  the  house.  "  If  ye  had  been  in 
.your  ain  room  wi'  a  fire  and  a  book  to  read, 
it  would  have  been  wiser-like,  than  among  a' 
thae  noisy  laddies,  wi'  the  wean  and  a  seam 
as  if  ye  were  as  strong  as  me.  Maister,  I 
wish  you  would  speak  to  Colin ;  he's  awfu' 
masterfu' ;  instead  of  gaun  to  his  bed,  like  a 
civilized  lad,  yonder  he  is  awa'  ben  to  the 
kitchen  and  down  by  the  fire  to  read  his  book, 
till  his  hair's  like  a  singed  sheep's  head,  and 


his  cheeks  like  burning  peats.  Ane  canna  do 
a  hand's-turn  wi'  a  parcel  o'  callants  about 
the  place  day  and  nicht,"  said  Jess,  in  an  ag- 
grieved tone. 

"  And  just  when  Archie  Candlish  has  sup- 
pered  his  horses  and  come  in  for  half-an-hour's 
crack,"  said  the  master.  "  I'll  send  Colin  to 
his  bed  ;  but  dinna  have  ower  muckle  to  say 
to  Archie  ;  he's  a  rover,"  continued  the  good- 
tempered  farmer,  who  "made  allowances" 
for  a  little  love-making.  He  raised  himself 
out  of  his  arm-chair  with  a  little  hesitation, 
like  a  great  mastiff  uncoiling  itself  out  of  a 
position  of  comfort,  and  ^went  slowly  away, 
moving  off  through  the  dimly  lighted  room 
like  an  amiable  giant  as  he  was. 

"Eh,  keep  me  !— and  Archie  Candlish  had 
just  that  very  minute  lookit  in  at  the  door," 
said  Jess,  lifting  her  apron  to  her  cheeks, 
wliich  were  glowing  with  blushes  and  laugh- 
ter. "  No  that  I  wanted  him  ;  but  he  came 
in  wi'  the  news  aboot  the  new  minister,  and 
noo  I'll  never  hear  an  end  o't,  and  the  mais- 
ter will  think  he's  aye  there." 

"  If  he's  a  decent  lad  and  means  well,  it's 
nae  great  matter,"  said  the  mistress  ;  "  but  I 
dinna  approve  of  ower  mony  lads.  Ye  may 
gang  through  the  wood  and  through  the  wood 
and  take  but  a  crooked  stick  at  the  end." 

"There's  naebody  I  ken'o'  that  the  mis- 
tress can  mean,  but  Bowed  Jacob,"  said  Jess 
reflectively,  "  and  ane  might  do  waur  than 
take  him,  though  he's  nae  great  figure  of  a 
man.  The  siller  that  body  makes  is  a  mira- 
cle, and  it  would  be  grand  to  live  in  a  twa- 
storied  house,  and  keep  a  lass ;  but  he's  an 
awfu'  establishment  man,  and  he  micht  in- 
terfere wi'  my  convictions,"  said  the  young 
woman  with  a  glimmer  of  humor  which  found 
no  response  in  the  mistress's  serious  eyes  ;  for 
Mrs.  Campbell,  being  of  a  poetical  and  imag- 
inative temperament,  tooK  most  things  much 
in  earnest,  and  was  slow  to  perceive  a  joke. 

"  You  shouldna  speak  about  convictions  in 
that  light  way,  Jess,"  said  the  farmer's  wife. 
"  I  wouldna  meddle  wi'  them  mysel',  no  for 
a'  the  wealth  o'  the  parish  ;  but  though  the 
maister  and  me  are  strong  Kirk  folk,  ye  ken 
ye  never  were  molested  here." 

"  To  hear  Archie  Candlish  about  the  new 
minister  !  "  cried  Jess,  whose  quick  ear  had 
already  ascertained  that  her  master  had 
paused  in  the  kitchen  to  speak  to  her  visitor, 
"  ye  would  laugh  ;  but  though  it's  grand  fun 
for  the  folk,  maybe  it's  no  so  pleasant  for  the 


10 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


poor  man.  We. put  down  our  names  for  the 
man  we  like  best,  us  Free  Kirk  folks  ;  but  it's 
different  in  the  parish.  There's  Tammas 
Scott,  he  vows  he'll  object  to  every  presentee 
the  earl  puts  in.  I'm  no  heeding  for  the 
carl,"  said  Jess  ;  "  he's  a  dour  Tory  and  can 
fecht  for  hirasel' ;  but  eh  I  wouldna  be  that 
poor  minister  set  up  there  for  a'  the  parish 
to  object  to.  I'd  rather  work  at  a  weaver's 
loom  or  sell  herrings  about  the  country-side, 
if  it  was  me!  " 

"  Weel,  weel,  things  that  are  hard  for  the 
flesh  are  guid  for  the  spirit — or  at  least  folk 
say  so,"  cried  the  mistress  of  Ramore. 

"  I  dinna  believe  in  that  for  my  part,"  said 
the  energetic  Jess,  as  she  lifted  the  wooden 
cradle  in  her  strong  arms.  "  Leave  the  wean 
still,  mistress,  and  draw  your  shawl  about  ye. 
I  could  carry  you,  too,  for  that  matter.  Eh 
me,  I'm  no  o'  that  way  o'  thinking ;  when 
ye're  happy  and  weel  likit,  ye're  aye  good 
in  proportion.  No  to  gang  against  the  words 
o'  Scripture,"  said  Jess,  setting  down  the  big 
cradle  with  a  bump  in  her  mistress's  bed- 
room, and  looking  anxiously  at  the  sleeping 
baby,  which,  with  a  little  start  and  gape,  re- 
sisted this  attempt  to  break  its  slumbers  : 
"  but  eh,  mistress,  it's  aye  my  opinion  that 
the  happier  folk  are  the  better  they  are.  I 
never  was  as  happy  as  in  this  house,"  contin- 
ued the  grateful  handmaiden,  furtively  pur- 
suing a  tear  into  the  corner  of  her  eye,  with 
a  large  forefinger,  "  no  that  I'm  meaning  to 
say  I'm  guid  ;  but  yet — " 

"  You  might  be  waur,"  said  the  mistress, 
with  a  smile.  "  You've  aye  a  kind  heart  and 
a  blythe  look,  and  that  gangs  a  far  way  wi' 
the  maister  and  me.  But  it's  time  Archie 
Candlish  was  hame  to  his  mother.  When 
there's  "nae  moon  and  such  heavy  roads,  you 
ehouldna  bring  a  decent  man  three  miles  out 
of  his  way  at  this  hour  o'  the  nicht.to  see 
yon." 

"  Me?  As  if /was  wanting  him,"  said  Jess, 
"  and  him  no  a  word  to  say  to  me  or  ony  lass, 
but  about  the  beasts  and  the  new  minister  ! 
I'll  be  back  in  half  a  minute  ;  I  wouldna 
waste  my  time  upon  a  gomeril  like  yon." 

While  Jess  sallied  forth  through  the  chilly 
passages  to  which  the  weeping  atmosphere 
had  communicated  a  sensation  of  universal 
damp,  the  mistress  knelt  down  to  arrange  her 
infant  more  commodiously  in  its  homely  nest. 
The  red  firelight  made  harmless  glimmers  all 
over  her  figure,  catching  now  and  then  a  side- 


long glance  out  of  her  eyes  as  she  smoothed 
the  little  pillow,  and  laid  the  tiny  coverlet 
over  the  small  unconscious  creature  wrapped 
closely  in  webs  and  bands  of  sleep.  When 
she  had  done,  she  still  knelt,  watching  it  as 
mothers  will,  with  a  smile  upon  her  face. 
After  a  while  the  beaming,  soft  dark  eyes 
turped  to  the  light  with  a  natural  attraction, 
to  the  glimmers  of  the  fire  shooting  acci- 
dental rays  into  all  the  corners,  and  to  the 
steady  little  candle  on  the  mantle-shelf.  The 
mistress  looked  round  on  all  the  familiar  ob- 
jects of  the  homely,  low-roofed  chamber. 

Outside,  the  rain  fell  heavily  still  upon  the 
damp  and  sodden  country,  soaking  silently  in 
the  dark  into  the  forlorn  wheat-sheaves,  which 
had  been  standing  in  the  fields  to  dry  in  inef- 
fectual hopefulness  for  weeks  past.  ^Matters 
did  not  look  promising  on  the  farm  of  Ramore, 
and  nothing  had  occurred  to  add  any  partic- 
ular happiness  to  its  mistress's  lot.  But  hap- 
piness is  perverse  and  follows  no  rule,  and 
Jess's  sentiment  found  an  echo  in  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell's mind.  As  she  knelt  by  the  cradle,  her 
heart  suddenly  swelled  with  a  consciousness 
of  the  perfection  of  life  and  joy  in  her  and 
around  her.  It  was  in  homely  words  enough 
that  she  gave  it  expression,  "  A'  weel,  and 
under  ae  roof,"  she  said  to  herself  with  ex- 
quisite dews  of  thankfulness  in  her  eyes. 
"  And  the  Lord  have  pity  on  lone  folk  and 
sorrowful,"  added  the  tender  woman,  with  a 
compassion  beyond  words,  a  yearning  that  all 
might  be  glad  like  herself, — the  pity  of  hap- 
piness, which  is  of  all  pity,  the  most  divine. 
Her  boys  were  saying  abrupt  prayers,  one  by 
one,  as  they  sank  in  succession  into  dreamless 
slumber.  The  master  bad  gone  out  in  the 
rain  to  take  one  last  look  over  his  kine  and 
his  farmyard,  and  see  that  all  was  safe  for 
the  night,  and  Archie  Candlish  had  just  been 
dismissed  with  a  stinging  jest  from  the  kitchen 
door,  which  Jess  bolted  and  barred  with  cheer- 
ful din,  singing  softly  to  herself  as  she  went 
about  the  house  putting  up  the  innocent  shut- 
ters, which  could  not  have  resisted  the  first 
touch  of  a  skilful  hand.  The  rain  was  falling 
all  over  the  wet,  silent  country  :  the  Holy 
Loch  gleamed  like  a  kind  of  twilight  spot  in 
the  darkness,  and  the  house  of  Ramore  stood 
shut  up  and  hushed,  no  liglit  at  all  to  be  seen 
but  that  from  the  open  door,  which  the  farmer 
suddenly  extinguished  as  he  came  in.  But 
when  the  solitary  light  died  out  from  tlic  in- 
visible hillside,  and  the  darkness  and  the  rain 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


11 


and  the  whispering  night  took  undisturbed 
possession,  was  just  the  moment  when  the 
mother  within,  kneeling  over  her  cradle  in 
the  firelight,  was  surprised  by  that  sudden, 
conscious  touch  of  happiness.  ' '  Happiness  ? 
oh,  ay,  weel  enough;  we've  a  great  deal  to 
be  thankfu'  for,"  said  big  Colin,  with  a  little 
sleepy  surprise  ;  "  if  it  werna  for  the  sprout- 
ing corn  and  the  broken  weather ;  but  I  dinna 
see  onything  particular  to  be  happy  about  at 
this  minute,  and  I'm  gaun  to  my  bed." 

For  the  prose  and  the  poetry  did  not  ex- 
actly understand  each  other  at  all  times,  even 
in  the  primitive  farmhouse  of  Kamore. 

CHAPTER   III. 

The  internal  economy  of  a  Scotch  parish 
is  not  so  clearly  comprehensible  now-a-days 
as  it  was  in  former  times.  Civilization  itself 
has  made  countless  inroads  upon  the  original 
unities  everywhere,  and  the  changes  that 
have  come  to  pass  within  the  recollection  of 
the  living  generation  are  almost  as  great, 
though  verydifierent  from,  those  which  made 
Scotland  during  last  century  so  picturesque 
in  its  state  of  transition.  When  Sunday 
morning  dawned  upon  the  Holy  Loch,  it  did 
not  shine  upon  that  pretty  rural  picture  of 
unanimous  church-going,  so  well  known  to 
the  history  of  the  past.  The  groups  from  the 
cottages  took  different  ways — the  carriage 
from  the  Castle  swept  round  the  hill  to  the 
other  side  of  the  parish,  where  there  was  an 
"  English  Chapel."  The  reign  of  opinion 
and  liking  was  established  in  the  once  primi- 
tive community.  Half  of  the  people  ascended 
the  hillside  to  the  Free  Church,  while  the 
others  wound  down  the  side  of  the  loch  to 
the  kirk  which  had  once  accommodated  the 
whole  parish.  This  state  of  affairs  had  be- 
come so  usual  that  even  polemical  feeling 
had  ceased  to  a  great  extent,  and  the  two 
streams  of  church-going  people  crossed  each 
other  placidly  without  recriminations.  This 
day,  for  a  wonder,  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly,  notwithstanding  a  cloudy,  stormy 
sky,  which  now  and  then  heaved  forward  a 
rolling  mass  of  vapor,  and  dispersed  it  sharply 
over  the  hills  in  a  flying  mist  and  shower. 
The  parish  church  lay  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  loch,  a  pretty  little  church  built  since 
the  days  when  architecture  had  penetrated 
even  into  Scotland.  Colin  of  Ramore  and 
his  family  were  there  in  their  pew,  the  boys 
arranged  in  order  of  seniority  between  Mrs. 


Campbell,  who  sat  at  the  head,  and  the  farmer 
himself  who  kept  the  seat  at  the  door.  Black- 
eyed  Johnnie  with  his  hair  bleached  white  by 
constant  exposure,  and  his  round  eyes  wan- 
dering over  the  walls  and  the  pews  and  the 
pulpit  and  the  people,  sat  by  bis  mother's 
side,  and  the  younger  Colin  occupied  his  post 
of  seniority  by  his  father.  They  were  all 
seated,  in  this  disposition,  when  the  present 
occupant  of  the  Castle,  Sir  Thomas  Frank- 
land,  lounged  up  the  little  aisle  with  his  son 
after  him.  Sir  Thomas  was  quite  devout  and 
respectable,  a  man  who  knew  how  to  conduct 
himself  even  in  a  novel  scene — and  after  all 
a  Presbyterian  church  was  no  novelty  to  the 
sportsman  ;  but  to  Harry  the  aspect  of  every- 
thing was  new,  and  his  curiosity  was  excited. 
It  was  a  critical  moment  in  the  history  of  the 
parish .  The  former  minister  had  been  trans- 
ferred only  a  few  weeks  before  to  a  more  im- 
portant station,  and  the  earl,  the  patron,  had, 
according  to  Scotch  phraseology,  "presented  " 
a  new  incumbent  to  the  living.  This  unhappy 
man  was  ascending  the  pulpit  when  the 
Franklands,  father  and  son,  entered  the 
church.  For  the  earl's  presentation  by  no 
means  implied  the  peaceable  entrance  of  the 
new  minister ;  he  had  to  preach,  to  give  the 
people  an  opportunity  of  deciding  whether 
they  liked  him  or  not ;  and  if  they  did  not 
like  him,  they  had  the  power  of  "  objecting ; " 
that  is,  of  urging  special  reasons  for  their 
dislike  before  the  Presbytery,  with  a  certainty 
of  making  a  little  noise  in  the  district,  and  a 
reasonable  probability  of  disgusting  and  mor- 
tifying the  unlucky  presentee,  to  the  point 
of  throwing  up  his  appointment.  All  this 
was  well  known  to  the  unfortunate  man,  who 
rose  up  in  the  pulpit  as  Sir  Thomas  found  a 
seat,  and  proceeded  to  read  the  psalm  with  a 
somewhat  embarrassed  and  faltering  voice. 
He  was  moderately  young  and  well-looking, 
with  a  face,  at  the  present  moment,  more 
agitated  than  was  quite  harmonious  with  the 
position  in  which  he  stood  ;  for  he  was  quite 
aware  that  everybody  was  criticising  him,  and 
that  the  inflections  of  his  voice  and  the  fiery 
tint  of  his  hair  were  being  noted  by  eager 
commentators  bent  upon  finding  ground  for 
an  "  objection  "  in  everything  he  said.  Such 
a  consciousness  naturally  does  not  promote 
ease  or  comfort.  His  hair  looked  redder  than 
ever,  as  a  stray  ray  of  sunshine  gleamed  in 
upon  him,  and  his  voice  took  a  nervous  break 
as  he  looked  over  the  many  hard,  unsympa- 


12  A    SON    OF 

thetic  faces  which  were  regarding  him  with 
the  Bliarp  curiosity  and  inspection  of  excited 
wits.  While  Ilarrj  Fraukland  made,  as  he 
thought,  "  an  ass  of  himself"  on  every  occa- 
sion thatoffcrcd — standingbolt  upright  when 
the  congregation  began  to  sing,  which  they 
did  at  their  leisure,  seated  in  the  usual  way 
— and  kicking  his  heels  in  an  attempt  to  kneel 
when  everybody  round  him  rose  up  for  the 
prayer,  and  feeling  terribly  red  and  ashamed 
at  each  mistake,  Colin  the  younger,  of  Ra- 
more,  occupied  himself,  like  a  heartless  young 
critic  as  he  was,  in  making  observations  on 
the  minister.  Colin,  like  his  father,  had  a 
high  opinion  of  "  popular  rights."  It  was 
his  idea,  somehow  drawn  in  with  the  damp 
Highland  air  he  breathed,  that  the  right  of 
objecting  to  a  presentee  was  one  of  the  most 
important  privileges  of  a  Scotch  Churchman. 
Then,  he  was  to  be  a  minister  himself,  and 
the  consciousness  of  this  fact  intensified  the 
natural  opposition  which  prompted  the  boy's 
mind  to  resist  anything  and  everything  that 
threatened  to  be  imposed  on  him.  Colin  even 
listened  to  the  prayer,  which  was  a  thing  not 
usual  with  him,  that  he  might  find  out  the 
objectionable  phrases.  And  to  be  sure  there 
were  plenty  of  objectionable  phrases  to  mar 
the  real  devotion  ;  the  vainest  of  vain  repe- 
titions, well-known  and  familiar  as  house- 
hold words  to  every  Scotch  ear,  demonstrated 
how  little  eifect  the  absence  of  a  liturgy  has 
in  promoting  fervent  and  individual  suppli- 
cations. The  congregation  in  general  lis- 
tened, like  young  Colin,  standing  up  in 
easy  attitudes,  and  observing  everything  that 
passed  around  them  with  open-eyed  compo- 
sure. It  did  not  look  much  like  common 
supplication,  nor  did  it  pretend  to  be — for 
the  people  were  but  listening  to  the  minis- 
ter's prayer,  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  con- 
tained various  expository  and  remonstrative 
paragraphs,  which  were  clearly  addressed  to 
the  congregation ;  and  they  were  all  very 
glad  to  sit  down  when  it  was  over,  and  clear 
their  throats,  and  prepare  for  the  sermon, 
which  was  the  real  business  of  the  day." 

"I  dinna  like  a'  that  new-fangled  non- 
sense to  begin  with,"  said  Eben  Campbell, 
of  Barnton,  as  he  walked  home  after  church, 
with  the  party  from  Ramore ;  "  naebody 
wants  twa  chapters  read  at  one  diet  of  wor- 
ship. The  Bible's  grand  at  hame,  but  that's 
no  what  a  man  gangs  to  the  kirk  for ;  that, 


THE    SOIL. 

and  60  mony  prayers— it's  naething  but  a 
great  offput  of  time." 

j  "  But  we  never  can  have  ower  muckle  o' 
I  the  word  of  God,"  said  Colin  of  Ramore's 
I  wife. 

"I'm  of  Eben's  opinion,"  said  another 
neighbor.  "  We  have  the  word  o'  God  at 
I  hame,  and  I  hope  we  make  a  good  use  o'  it; 
but  that's  no  what  we  gang  to  the  kirk  to 
\  hear.  When  yp  see  a  man  that's  set  up  in 
]  the  pulpit  for  anither  purpose  a'thcgether, 
j  spending  half  his  time  in  reading  chapters 
and  ithcr  preliminaries,  I  aye  consider  it's  a 
sure  sign  that  he  hasna  mackle  o'  his  ain  to 
say." 

They  were  all  walking  abreast  in  a  leisurely 
Sunday  fashion  up  the  loch  ;  the  children 
roaming  about  the  skirts  of  the  older  party, 
some  in  front  and  some  behind,  occasionally 
making  furtive  investigations  into  the  condi- 
tion of  the  brambles,  an  anti-sabbatical  occu- 
pation which  was  sharply  interrupted  when 
found  out — the  women  picking  their  steps 
along  the  edges  of  the  muddy  road,  with  now 
and  then  a  word  of  pleasant  gossip,  while  the 
men  trudged  on  sturdily  through  the  pud- 
dles, discussing  the  great  subject  of  the  day. 
"  Some  of  the  new  folk  from  the  Castle 
were  in  the  kirk  to-day,"  said  one  of  the 
party, — "which  is  a  respect  to  the  parish 
the  earl  doesna  pay  himself.  Things  are  ter- 
rible changed  in  that  way  since  my  young 
days.  The  auld  earl,  this  ane's  father,  was 
an  elder  in  the  Kirk  ;  and  gentle  and  simple, 
we  a'  said  our  prayers  thegcther — " 

"  I  dinna  approve  of  that  expression,"  said 
Eben  of  Barnton .  "To  speak  of  saying  your 
prayers  in  the  kirk  is  pure  papistry.  Say 
your  prayers  at  hame,  as  I  hope  we  a'  do,  at 
the  family  altar,  no  to  speak  of  private  devo- 
tions," said  this  defender  of  the  faith,  with  a 
glance  at  the  unlucky  individual  who  was 
understood  not  to  be  so  regular  in  the  article 
of  family  prayer  as  he  ought  to  have  been. 
"We  gang  to  the  kirk  to  have  our  minds 
stirred  up  and  put  in  remembrance.  I  dinna 
approve  of  the  English  fashion  of  putting 
everything  into  the  prayers." 

"  Weel,  wecl,  I  meant  nae  harm,"  said 
the  previous  speaker.  "  We  a'  gaed  to  the 
kirk,  was  what  I  meant  to  say  ;  and  there's 
the  queen,  she  aye  sets  a  grand  example. 
You'll  no  find  her  driving  off  three  or  four 
miles  to  an  English  chapel.     I  consider  it's 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


13 


a  great  respect  to  the  parish  to  see  Sir  Thomas 
in  the  Castle  pew." 

"  I  would  rather  see  him  respect  the  sab- 
bath-day," said  Eben  Campbell,  pointing  out 
a  little  pleasure-boat,  a  tiny  little  cockle- 
Bhell,  with  a  morsel  of  snow-white  sail,  which 
just  then  appeared  in  the  middle  of  tlie  loch, 
rushing  up  beautifully  before  the  wind, 
through  the  placid  Waters,  and  lighting  up 
the  landscape  with  a  touch  of  life  and  mo- 
tion. Young  Colin  was  at  Eben's  elbow,  and 
followed  the  movement  of  his  hand  with  keen 
eyes.  A  spark  of  jealousy  had  kindled  in 
the  boy's  breast — he  could  not  have  told  why. 
He  was  not  so  horrified  as  he  ought  to  have 
been  at  the  sight  of  the  boat  disturbing  the 
Sunday  quiet ;  but,  with  a  swell  of  indigna- 
tion and  resentment  in  his  boyish  heart,  he 
thought  of  the  difference  between  himself 
and  the  young  visitor  at  the  Castle.  It 
looked  symbolical  to  Colin.  He,  trudging 
heavily  over  the  muddy,  lepgthy  road  ;  the 
other,  flying  along  in  that  dainty  little  bird- 
like boat,  with  those  white  wings  of  sail, 
which  pleased  Colin's  eye  in  spite  of  himself, 
carrying  him  on  as  lightly  and  swiftly  as 
heart  could  desire.  Why  should  one  boy 
have  such  a  wonderful  advantage  over  an- 
other? It  was  the  first  grand  problem  which 
had  puzzled  and  embittered  Colin's  thoughts. 

"  There,  they  go  ! "'  said  the  boy.  "  It's 
fine  and  easy,  running  like  that  before  the 
wind.  They'll  get  to  the  end  o'  the  loch  be- 
fore we've  got  over  a  mile.  That  makes  an 
awfu'  difference,"  said  Colin,  with  subdued 
wrath  ;  he  was  thinking  of  other  things  be- 
sides the  long  walk  from  church  and  the 
muddy  road. 

"  We'll  may  be  get  home  as-soon,  for  all 
that,"  said  his  father,  who  guessed  the  boy's 
thoughts ;  for  the  elder  Colin's  experienced 
eye  had  already  seen  that  mists  were  rising 
among  the  hills,  and  that  the  fair  breeze 
would  soon  be  fair  no  longer.  The  scene 
changed  as  if  by  enchantment  while  the 
farmer  spoke.  Such  changes  come  and  go 
like  breath  over  the  Holy  Loch.  The  sun- 
shine, which  had  been  making  the  whole 
landscape  into  a  visible  paradise,  vanished 
suddenly  off  the  hills  and  waters  like  a  fright- 
ened thing,  and  a  visible  darkness  came  brood- 
ing over  the  mountains,  dropping  lower  every 
moment,  like  a  pall  of  gloom  over  the  lower 
banks  and  the  suddenly  paled  and  shivering 
loch.    The  joyous  little  sail,  which  had  been 


careering  on,  as  if  by  a  iiatural  impulse  of  de- 
light, suddenly  changed  its  character  along 
with  all  the  otli'j-  details  of  the  picture.  The 
spectators  saw  its  white  sail,  fluttering  like 
an  alarmed  seabird,  against  the  black  back- 
ground of  cloud.  Then  it  began  to  tack  and 
waver  and  make  awkward,  tremulous  darts 
across  the  darkened  water.  The  party  of 
pedestrians  stood  still  to  watch  it,  as  the  po- 
sition became  dangerous.  They  knew  the 
loch  and  the  winds  too  well  to  look  on  with 
composure.  As  for  young  Colin  of  Ramore, 
his  heart  began  to  leap  and  swell  in  his  boy- 
ish bosom.  Was  that  his  adversary,  the 
favored  rival  whom  he  had  recognized  by  in- 
stinct, who  was  fighting  for  his  life  out  there 
in  mid  water,  with  the  storm  gaining  on  him, 
and  his  little  vessel  staggering  in  the  wind? 
Colin  did  not  hear  the  remarks  of  the  otKer  '' 
spectators.  He  felt  in  his  heart  that  he  was 
looking  on  at  a  struggle  which  was  for  life 
or  death,  and  his  contempt  for  the  skill  of 
the  amateur  sailor,  whose  unused  hands  were 
so  manifestly  unable  to  manage  the  boat,  was 
mingled  with  a  kind  of  despair,  lest  a  stronger 
power  should  snatch  this  opponent  of  his  own 
out  of , the  future  strife,  in  which  Colin  had 
vowed  to  himself  to  be  victorious. 

"  You  fool !  take  in  the  sail !  "  he  shouted, 
putting  both  his  hands  to  his  mouth,  forget- 
ting how  impossible  it  was  that  the  sound 
could  reach  ;  and  then  scarcely  knowing  what 
he  was  about,  the  boy  rushed  down  to  the 
beach,  and  jumped  into  the  nearest  boat. 
The  sound  of  his  oars  furiously  plashing 
through  the  silence  was  the  first  indication 
to  his  companions  of  what  he  had  done.  And 
he  did  not  even  see  nor  hear  the  calls  and 
gestures  with  which  he  was  summoned  back 
again.  His  oars,  and  how  to  get  there  at  a 
flight  like  a  bird,  occupied  his  mind  entirely. 
Yet  even  in  his  anxiety  he  scorned  to  ask  for 
help  which  would  have  carried  him  bo  much 
sooner  to  the  spot  he  aimed  at.  As  the 
sound  of  his  oars  dashed  and  echoed  through 
the  profound  silence,  various  outcries  came 
from  the  group  on  the  bank. 

"It's  tempting  Providence!  "  cried  Eben 
Campbell.  "Yon's  a  judgment  on  the  sab- 
bath-breaker,— and  what  can  the  laddie  do? 
Come  back,  sir,  this  moment,  come  back  ! 
Ye'll  never  win  there  in  time." 

As  for  the  boy's  mother,  after  his  first 
start  she  clasped  her  hands  together,  and 
watched  the  boat  with  an  interest  too  intense 


14 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


for  words.  "  He's  in  nae  danger,"  she  said 
to  herself,  softly  ;  and  it  would  have  been 
hard  to  tell  whether  she  was  sorry  or  glad 
that  her  boy's  enterprise  was  attended  by  no 
personal  peril. 

.  "  Let  him  be,"  said  the  farmer  of  Ramore, 
pushing  aside  his  anxious  neighbor,  who  was 
calling  Colin  ineffectually,  but  without  inter- 
mission. Colin  Campbell's  face  had  taken  a 
sudden  crimson  flush,  which  nobody  could  ac- 
count for.  He  went  off  up  the  beach  with 
heavy,  rapid  steps,  scattering  the  shingle 
round  his  feet,  to  a  spot  exactly  opposite  the 
struggling  boat,  and  stood  there  watching 
with  wonderful  eagerness.  The  little  white 
sail  was  still  fluttering  and  struggling  like  a 
distressed  bird  upon  the  black,  overclouded 
water.  Now  it  lurched  over  till  the  very 
mast  seemed  to  touch  the  loch — now  re- 
covered itself  for  a  tremulous  moment — and 
finally,  shivering  like  a  living  creature,  gave 
one  wild,  sudden  stagger,  and  disappeared. 

When  the  speck  of  white  vanished  out  of 
the  black  landscape,  a  cry  came  out  of  all 
their  hearts  ;  and  hopeless  as  it  was,  the  very 
man  who  had  been  calling  Colin  back,  rushed 
in  his  turn  to  a  boat,  and  pushed  off  violently 
into  the  loch.  The  women  stood  huddled  to- 
gether, helpless  with  terror  and  grief.  "  The 
bit  laddie!  the  bit  laddie!  "  cried  one  of 
them — "  some  poorwoman's  bairn."  Asfor 
Mrs.  Campbell,  the  world  grew  dark  round 
her  as  she  strained  her  eyes  after  Colin's 
boat.  She  did  not  faint,  for  such  was  not 
the  habit  of  the  Holy  Loch  ;  but  she  sank 
down  suddenly  on  the  wet  green  bank,  and 
put  up  her  hand  over  her  eyes  as  if  to  shade 
them  from  some  imaginary  sunshine,  and 
gazed,  not  seeing  anything,  after  her  boy. 
To  see  her,  delicate  as  she  was,  with  the 
woman  weakness  which  they  all  understood, 
seating  herself  in  this  wild  way  on  the  wet 
bank,  distracted  the  attention  of  her  kindly 
female  neighbors,  even  from  the  terrible 
event  which  had  just  taken  place  before  their 
eyes. 

"  Maybe  the  lad  can  swim,"  said  Eben 
Campbell's  wife — "  onyway  yonder 's  your 
Colin  running  races  with  death  to  save  him. 
But  you  maunna  sit  here — come  into  Dugald 
Macfarlane's  house.  There's  my  man  away 
in  another  boat  and  some  mair.  But  we 
canna  let  you  sit  here." 

"Eh,  my  Colin,  I  canna  see  my  Colin  !  " 
said  the  mistress  of  Ramore ;   but  they  led 


her  away  into  the  nearest  cottage,  notwith- 
standing her  reluctance.  There  they  all 
stood  clustering  at  the  window,  aiding  the 
eyes  which  had  failed  her  in  her  weakness. 
Colin's  mother  sat  silent  in  the  chair  where 
they  had  placed  her,  trembling  and  rocking 
herself  to  and  fro.  Her  heart  within  her 
was  praying  and  crying  for  the  boys — the 
two  boys  whom  in  this  moment  of  confused 
anxiety  she  could  not  separate — her  own  first- 
born, and  the  stranger  who  was  "  another 
woman's  bairn."  God  help  all  women  and 
mothers  !  though  Colin  was  safe,  what  could 
her  heart  do  but  break  at  the  thought  of 
the  sudden  calamity  which  had  shut  out  the 
sunshine  from  another.  She  rocked  herself 
to  and  fro,  ceasing  at  last  to  hear  what  they 
said  to  her,  and  scarcely  aware  of  anything 
except  the  dull  clank  of  the  oars  against  the 
boat's  side  ;  somebody  coming  or  going,  she 
knew  not  which — always  coming  or  going — 
never  bringing  certain  news  which  was  lost 
and  which  saved. 

The  mistress  of  Ramore  was  still  in  this  stu- 
por of  anxiety,  when  young  Harry  Frank- 
land,  dripping  and  all  but  insensible,  was  car- 
ried into  Dugald  Macfarlane's  cottage.  The 
little  room  became  dark  instantly  with  sucli 
a  cloud  of  men  that  it  was  difficult  to  make 
out  how  he  had  been  saved,  or  if  there  was 
indeed  any  life  left  in  the  lad.  But  Dugald 
Macfarlane's  wife,  who  had  the  ferry-boat  at 
Struan,  and  understood  about  drowning,  had 
bestirred  herself  in  the  mean  time,  and  had 
hot  blankets  and  other  necessities  in  the  inner 
room  where  big  Colin  Camj^bell  carried  the 
boy.  Then  all  the  men  about  burst  at  once 
into  the  narrative.  "  If  it  hadna  been  for 
little  Colin  o'  Ramore — "  was  about  all  Mrs. 
Campbell  made  out  of  the  tale.  The  cottage 
was  so  thronged  that  there  was  scarcely  an 
entrance  left  for  the  doctor  and  Sir  Thomas 
who  had  both  been  summoned  by  anxious 
messengers.  By  this  time  the  storm  had 
come  down  upon  the  loch,  and  a  wild,  sud- 
den tempest  of  rain  was  sweeping  black 
across  hill  and  water,  obliterating  every  line 
of  the  landscape.  Half-way  across,  playing 
on  the  surface  of  the  water  was  a  bit  of  spar 
with  a  scarlet  rag  attached  to  it,  which  made 
a  great  show  glistening  over  the  black  waves. 
That  was  all  that  was  visible  of  the  pleasure- 
boat  in  which  the  young  stranger  had  been 
bounding  along  so  pleasantly  an  hour  before. 
The  neighbors  dropped  off  gradually,  dispers- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


ing  to  other  adjacent  houses  to  talk  over  the 
incident,  or  pushing  homeward,  with  an  in- 
difference to  the  storm  that  was  natural  to 
the  dwellers  on  the  Holy  Loch  ;  and  it  was 
only  when  she  was  left  alone,  waiting  for  her 
husband,  who  was  in  the  inner  room  with  Sir 
Thomas  and  the  saved  boy,  that  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell perceived  Colin 's  bashful  face  gleaming 
in  furtively  at  the  open  door. 

"It's  no  so  wet  as  it  was;  come  away, 
mother,  now,"  said  Colin,  "  there's  nae  fears 
o'  Azm."  And  the  lad  pointed  half  with  an 
assertion,  half  with  an  inquiry,  towards  the 
inner  room.  It  was  an  unlucky  moment  for 
the  shy  hero  ;  for  just  then  big  Colin  of  Ra- 
more  appeared  with  Sir  Thomas  at  the  door. 
"  This  is  the  boy  that  saved  my  son,"  said 
Harry's  father.  "You  are  a  brave  fellow ; 
neither  he  nor  I  will  ever  forget  it.  Let  me 
know  if  there  is  anything  I  can  serve  you  in, 
and  to  the  best  of  my  exertions  I  will  help 
you  as  you  have  helped  me.  What  does  he 
say?" 

"  I  say,"  said  Colin  the  younger,  with 
fierce  blushes,  "  that  it  wasna  me.  I've 
done  naething  to  be  thanked  for.  Yon  fellow 
swims  like  a  fish,  and  he  saved  himself." 

And  then  there  came  an  answering  voice 
from  the  inner  room — a  boy's  voice  subdued 
out  of  its  natural  falsetto  into  feminine  tones 
of  weakness.  "  He's  telling  a  lie,  that  fellow 
there,"  cried  the  other  from  his  bed ;  "  he 
picked  me  up  when  I  was  about  done  for. 
I'll  fight  him,  if  he  likes,  as  soon  as  I'm  able ! 
But  that's  a  lie  he  tells  you  ;  that's  him — 
that  Campbell  fellow  there." 

Upon  which  young  Colin  of  Ramore 
Qlenched  his  fists  in  hie  wet  pockets,  and 
faced  towards  the  door,  which  Dugald  Mac- 
farlane's  wife  closed  softly,  looking  out  upon 


15 

him,  shaking  her  head  and  holding  up  a  fin- 
ger to  impose  silence  ;  the  two  fathers  mean- 
while looked  in  each  other's  faces.  The 
English  baronet  and  the  Scotch  farmer  both 
broke  into  a  low,  unsteady  laugh,  and  then 
with  an  impulse  of  fellowship,  mutually  ex- 
tended their  hands. 

"  We  have  nae  reason  to  think  shame  of 
our  sons,"  said  Colin  Campbell  with  his 
Scotch  dignity ;  "  as  for  service  or  reward 
that  is  neither  here  nor  there  ;  what  my  boy 
did  your  boy  would  do  if  he  had  the  chance, 
and  there's  nae  mair  to  be  said  that  I  can 
see." 

"There's  a  great  deal  more  to  be  said," 
said  Sir  Thomas ;  "  Lady  Frankland  will  call 
on  Mrs.  Campbell,  and  thank  that  brave  boy 
of  yours ;  and  if  you  think  I  can  forget  such 
a  service, — I  tell  you  there's  a  great  deal 
more  to  be  said,"  said  the  sportsman,  break- 
ing down  suddenly  with  a  little  effusion,  of 
which  he  was  half  ashamed. 

"  The  gentleman's  right,  Colin,"  said  the 
mistress  of  Ramore.  "  God  be  thanked  for 
the  twa  laddies  !  My  heart  was  breaking 
for  the  English  lady.  God  be  thanked ! 
That's  a'  there  is  to  say.  But  I'll  be  real 
glad  to  see  that  open-hearted  callant  when 
he's  well,  and  his  mother  too,"  said  the 
farmer's  wife,  turning  her  soft  eyes  upon  Sir 
Thomas,  with  a  gracious  response  to  the 
overflowing  of  his  heart.  Sir  Thomas  took 
off  his  hat  to  her  as  respectfully  as  he  would 
have  done  to  the  queen,  when  she  took  her 
husband's  strong  arm,  and  followed  Colin, 
who  by  this  time,  with  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, and  his  heart  beating  loudly,  was  half- 
way to  Ramore  ;  and  now  they  had  other 
topics  besides  that  unfailing  one  of  the  oew 
minister  to  talk  of  on  the  way. 


16 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


PART    II. — CnAPTER    IV. 

November  weather  is  not  cheerful  on  the 
Holy  Loch.  The  dazzling  snow  on  the  hills 
when  there  is  sunshine,  the  sharp  cold  blue 
of  the  water,  the  withered  ferns  and  licatbcr 
on  the  banks,  give  it,  it  is  true,  a  new  tone  of 
color  unknown  to  its  placid  summer  beauty ; 
but,  when  there  is  no  sunshine,  as  is  more 
usual,  when  the  mountains  are  folded  in  dark 
mists,  and  the  rain  falls  cold,  and  the  trees 
rain  down  a  still  heavier  and  more  melan- 
choly shower  of  perpetually  falling  leaves, 
there  is  little  in  the  landscape  to  cheer  the 
spirits  of  the  inhabitants,  who,  fortunately  for 
themselves,  take  it  very  calmly,  like  most 
people  accustomed  to  such  a  climate.  The 
farmer's  wife  of  Ramore,  however,  was  not 
of  that  equable  mind.  When  she  looked  out 
from  her  homely  parlor-window,  it  oppressed 
her  heart  to  miss  her  mountains,  and  to  see 
the  heavy  atmosphere  closing  in  over  her  own 
little  stretch  of  hillside.  She  was  busy,  to 
be  sure,  and  had  not  much  time  to  think  of 
it ;  but,  when  she  paused  for  a  moment  in 
her  many  occupations,  and  looked  wistfully 
for  signs  of  "  clearing,"  the  poetic  soul  in 
her  homely  bosom  fell  subdued  into  an  uncon- 
scious harmony  with  the  heavy  sky.  If  the 
baby  looked  pale  by  chance,  the  mother  took 
gloomy  views  of  the  matter  on  such  days,  and 
was  subject  to  Little  momen.,ary  failures  of 
hope  and  courage,  which  amazed,  and  at  the 
same  time  amused,  big  Colin,  who  by  this 
time  knew  all  about  it. 

"  You  were  blythe  enough  about  us  a'  yes- 
terday, Jeanie,"  he  would  say,  with  a  smilo, 
"  and  nothing's  happened  to  change  the  pros- 
pect but  the  rain.  It's  just  as  weel  for  the 
wean  that  the  doctor's  a  dozen  miles  off;  for 
it's  your  e'en  that  want  physic,  and  a  glint 
o'  sunshine  would  set  a'  right."  He  was 
standing  by  her,  hovering  like  a  great  good- 
humored  cloud,  his  eyes  dwelling  upon  her 
with  that  tender  perception  of  her  sacred 
weakness,  and  admiring  pride  in  her  more 
delicate  faculties,  which  are  of  the  highest 
essence  of  love. 

"  I  hope  you  dinna  think  me  a  fool  alto- 
gether,'' the  mistress  would  answer,  with  mo- 
mentary offence ;  "  as  if  I  was  thinking  of  the 
rain,  or  as  if  there  was  onything  but  rain  to 
be  lookit  for  !  but  when  I  mind  that  my  Co- 
lin gangs  away  the  morn — " 

And  then  she  took  up  her  basket  of  mended 
stockings,  and,  with  a  little  impatience,  to 


hide  a  chance  drop  on  her  eyelash,  carried 
them  away  to  Colin's  room,  where  his  chest 
stood  open  and  was  being  packed  for  the  jour- 
ney. It  was  not  a  very  long  journey,  but  it 
was  the  boy's  first  outset  into  independent 
life  ;  and  very  independent  life  was  that  which 
awaited  the  country  lad  in  Glasgow,  where 
he  was  going  to  the  university.  On  such  a 
day  dark  shadows  of  many  a  melanclioly  story 
floated  somehow  upon  the  darkened  atmos- 
phere into  Mrs.  Campbell's  mind. 

"If  we  could  but  have  boarded  him  in  a 
decent  family,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she 
packed  her  boy's  stockings.  But  it  had  been 
"  a  bad  year"  at  Ramore,  and  no  decent 
family  would  have  received  young  Colin  for 
so  small  a  sum  as  that  on  which  he  himself 
and  various  more  wise  advisers  considered  it 
possible  for  him  to  live,  by  the  help  of  an  oc- 
casional hamper  of  home-produce,  in  a  little 
lodging  of  his  own.  Mrs.  Campbell  had  ac- 
ceded to  this  arrangement  as  the  best ,  but 
it  occurred  to  her  to  remember  various  wrecks 
she  had  encountered  even  in  her  innocent 
life  ;  and  her  heart  failed  her  a  little  as  she 
leaned  over  Colin's  big  "  kist." 

Colin  himself  said  very  little  on  the  sub- 
ject, though  he  thought  of  nothing  else  ;  but 
he  was  a  taciturn  Scotch  boy,  totally  unused 
to  disclose  bis  feelings.  He.  was  strolling 
round  and  round  the  place  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  gradually  getting  soaked  by  the 
persistent  rain,  and  rather  liking  it  than 
otherwise.  As  he  strayed  about — having 
nothing  to  do  that  day  in  consideration  of  its 
being  his  last  day  at  home — Colin's  presence 
was  by  no  means  welcomed  by  the  other  peo- 
ple about  the  farm.  Of  course,  being  unoc- 
cupied himself,  he  had  the  sharpest  eyes  for 
every  blunder  that  was  going  on  in  the  stable 
or  the  byre,  and  announced  his  little  discov- 
eries with  a  charming  candor.  But  in  his 
heart,  even  at  the  moment  when  he  was  driv- 
ing Jess  to  frenzy  by  uncalled-for  remarks 
touching  the  dinner  of  the  pigs,  Colin  was  all 
ablaze  with  anticipation  of  the  new  life  that 
was  to  begin  to-morrow.  He  thought  of  it  as 
something  grand  and  complete,  not  made  up 
of  petty  details  like  this  life  he  was  leaving.  It 
was  a  mist  of  learning,  daily  stimulation  and 
encounter  of  wits,  with  glorious  prizes  and 
honors  hanging  in  the  hazy  distance,  whicii 
Colin  saw  as  he  went  strolling  about  the 
fai'myard  in  the  rain,  with  iiis  hands  in  his 
pockets.       If  he  said  anything  articulate  to 


A    SON    OF 

himself  on  the  Bubject,  it  was  comprised  m 
one  succinct,  but  seemingly  inapplicable, 
statement.  "Eton's  no  a  college,"  he  said 
once,  under  his  breath,  with  a  dark  glow  of 
satisfaction  on  his  face  as  he  stopped  oppo- 
site the  door,  and  cast  a  glance  upon  the 
loch  and  the  boat,  which  latter  was  now 
drawn  up  high  and  dry  out  of  reach  of  the 
wintry  water ;  and  then  a  cloud  suddenly 
lowered  over  Colin's  face,  as  a  sudden  doubt 
of  his  own  accuracy  seized  him — a  torturing 
thought  which  drove  him  indoors  instantly 
to  resolve  his  doubt  by  reference  to  a  won- 
derful old  gazetteer  which  was  believed  in 
at  Eamore.  Colin  found  it  recorded  there, 
to  his  great  mental  disturbance,  that  Eton 
was  a  college  ;  but,  on  further  inquiry,  de- 
rived great  comfort  from  knowing  that  it 
certainly  was  not  a  university,  after  which 
he  felt  himself  again  at  liberty  to  issue  forth 
and  superintend  and  aggravate  all  the  busy 
people  about  the  farm. 

That  night  the  family  supper-table  was 
somewhat  dull,  notwithstanding  the  excite- 
ment of  the  boys,  for  Archie  was  to  accom- 
pany his  father  and  brother  to  Glasgow,  and 
was  in  great  glee  over  that  unusual  delight. 
Mrs.  Campbell,  for  her  part,  was  full  of 
thoughts  natural  enough  to  the  mother  of  so 
many  sons.  She  kept  looking  at  her  boys 
as  they  sat  round  the  table,  absorbed  in  their 
supper.  "  This  is  the  beginning,  but  wha 
can  tell  what  may  be  the  end  ? ' '  she  said 
half  to  herself;  "  they'll  a'  be  gane  afore  we 
ken  what  we're  doing."  Little  Johnnie,  to 
be  sure,  was  but  six  years  old  ;  but  the  moth- 
er's imagination  leapt  over  ten  years,  and 
saw  the  house  empty,  and  all  the  young 
lives  out  in  the  world.  "Eh  me!"  said 
the  reflective  woman,  "  that's  what  we  bring 
up  our  bairns  for,  and  rejoice  over  them  as 
if  they  were  treasure ;  and  then  by  the  time 
we're  auld  they're  a'  gane;"  and,  as  she 
spoke,  not  the  present  shadow  only,  but  le- 
gions of  vague  desolations  in  the  time  to 
come  came  rolling  up  like  mists  upon  her 
tender  soul. 

"  As  lang  as  there's  you  and  me,  we'll 
fend,  Jeanie,"  said  the  farmer,  with  a  smile ; 
"  twa's  very  good  company  to  my  way  o' 
thinking ;  but  there's  plenty  of  time  to  think 
about  the  dispersion  which  canna  take  place 
yet  for  a  year  or  twa.  The  boys  came  into 
the  world  to  live  their  ain  lives  and  serve 
their  ^laker,  and  no'  just  to  pleasure  you  and 

2 


THE    SOIL.  17 

me.  If  you've  a'  done,  ye  can  cry  on  Jess,  and 
bring  out  the  big  Bible,  Colin.  We  maunna 
miss  our  prayers  to-night." 

To  tell  the  truth,  Colin  of  Ramore  was 
not  quite  so  regular  in  his  discharge  of  this 
duty  as  his  next  neighbor,  Eben  Campbell  of 
Barn  ton,  thought  necessary,  and  was  disap- 
proved of  accordingly  by  that  virtuous  critic ; 
but  the  homely  little  service  was  perhaps  all 
the  more  touching  on  this  special  occasion, 
and  marked  the  "night  before  Colin  went 
first  to  the  college  "as  a  night  to  be  remem- 
bered. When  his  brothers  trooped  off  to 
bed,  Colin  remained  behind  as  a  sjDecial  dis- 
tinction. His  mother  was  sitting  by  the 
fire  without  even  her  knitting,  with  her 
hands  crossed  in  her  lap,  and  clouds  of 
troubled,  tender  thought  veiling  her  soft 
eyes.  As  for  the  farmer,  he  sat  looking  on 
with  a  faint  gleam  of  humor  in  his  face.  He 
knew  that  his  wife  was  going  to  speak  out 
her  anxious  heart  to  her  boy,  and  big  Colin's 
respect  for  her  judgment  was  just  touched 
by  a  man's  smile  at  her  womanish  solemnity, 
and  the  great  unlikelihood  that  her  innocent 
advices  would  have  the  effect  she  imagined 
upon  her  son's  career.  But,  notwithstand- 
ing the  smile,  big  Colin,  too,  listened  with 
interest  to  all  that  his  wife  had  to  say. 

"  Come  here  and  sit  down,"  said  Mrs. 
Campbell ;  "  you  needna'  think  shame  of  my 
hand  on  your  head,  though  you  are  gauia  to 
the  college  the  morn.  Eh  !  Colin,  you  dinna 
ken  a'  the  temptations  nor  the  trials.  Ye've 
aye  had  your  ain  way  at  hame — " 

Here  Colin  made  a  little  movement  of  irre- 
pressible dissent.  "I've  aye  done  what  I 
was  bidden,"  said  the  honest  boy.  He  could 
not  accept  that  gentle  fiction  even  when  his 
heart  was  touched  by  his  mother's  farewell. 

"  Wecl,  ■weel,"  said  the  farmer's  wife, 
with  a  little  sigh  ;  "you've had  your  ain  way 
as  flir  as  it  was  good  for  you.  But  its  awfu' 
different  living  among  strangers,  and  living 
in  your  father's  house.  Ye'll  have  to  think 
for  yoursel'  and  take  care  of  yoursel'  now. 
I'm  no  one  to  give  many  advices,"  said  the 
mother,  putting  up  her  hand  furtively  to  her 
eyes,  and  looking  into  the  fire  till  the  tears 
should  be  re-absorbed  which  had  gathered 
there.  "  But  I  wouldna  like  my  first-born 
to  leave  Ramore  and  think  a'  was  as  fair  in 
the  world  as  appears  to  the  common  e'e.  I've 
been  real  Avecl  off  a'  my  days,"  said  the  mis- 
tress, slowly,  letting  the  tears  which  she  had 


18 


restrained  before  drop  freely  at  this  rcminis 
cence  of  happiness;  "a  guid  father  and 
mother  to  bring  me  up,  and  then  him  there 
that's  tlic  kindest  man !  But  you  and  me 
needna  praise  your  father,  Colin ;  we  can 
leave  that  to  them  thatdinna  ken,"  she  went 
on,  recovering  herself;  "but  I've  had  ac 
trouble  for  a'  so  weel  as  I've  been,  and  I  mean 
to  tell  you  what  that  is  afore  you  set  out  in 
the  world  for  yoursel'." 

"Nothing  about  poor  George,"  said  the 
farmer,  breaking  in. 

"  Oh,  ay,  Colin,  just  about  poor  George; 
I  maun  speak,"  said  the  mistress.  "  He  was 
far  the  bonniest  o'  our  family,  and  the  bcst- 
likit ;  and  he  was  to  be  a  minister,  laddie, 
like  you.  He  used  to  come  hame  with  his 
prizes,  and  bring  the  very  sunshine  to  the  auld 
house.  Eh  !  but  my  mother  was  proud  ;  and 
for  me,  I  thought  there  was  nothing  in  this 
world  he  mightna'  do  if  he  likit.  Colin," 
said  Mrs.  Campbell,  with  solemn  looks,  "are 
ye  listening  ?  The  last  time  I  saw  my  brother 
was  in  a  puir  place  at  Liverpool,  a'  in  rags 
and  dirt,  Avith  an  auld  coat  buttoned  to  his 
throat,  that  it  mightna'  be  seen  what  was 
wantin',  and  a'  his  wild  hair  hanging  about 
his  face,  and  his  feet  out  o'  his  shoon,  and 
hunger  in  his  eye — " 

"  Jeanie,  Jeanie,  nae  mair,"  said  big 
Colin  from  the  other  side  of  the  fire. 

"  But  I  maun  say  mair ;  I  maun  tell  a'," 
cried  his  wife,  with  tears.  "  Hunger  in  his 
bonnie  face,  that  was  ance  the  blythest 
in  the  country-side — no  hunger  for  honest 
meat  as  nature  might  crave,  but  for  a'  thing 
that  was  unlawfu'  and  evil  and  killin'  to 
soul  and  body.  He  had  to  be  watched  for 
fear  he  should  spend  the  hard-won  silver  that 
we  had  a'  scraped  together  to  send  him  away. 
Him  that  had  been  our  pride,  we  couldna 
trust  him,  Colin,  no  ten  minutes  out  o'  our 
sight  but  he  was  in  some  new  trouble.  It 
was  to  Australia  we  sent  him,  where  a'  the 
uuTortunates  go.  Eh,  me  !  the  like  o'  that 
ship  sailing  !  If  there  was  a  kind  o'  hope  in 
our  breasts  it  was  the  hope  o'  despair.  It 
wasna'  my  will,  for  what  is  there  in  a  new 
place  to  make  a  man  reform  his  waj-s  ?  And 
that  was  how  your  Uncle  George  went 
away." 

"And  then?"  cried  the  boy,  whose  in- 
terest was  raised,  and  who  had  heard  myste- 
riously of  this  Uncle  George  before. 

"  We've  heard  no  word  from  that  day  to 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


this,"  said  ^Irs.  Campbell,  drying  her  eyes. 
"  Listen  till  I  tell  you  a'  that  his  pleasurings 
brought  him  to.  First,  and  greatest,  to  say 
what  was  not  true,  Colin — to  deceive  them 
that  trusted  him.  If  the  day  should  ever 
dawn  that  I  couldna  trust  a  bairn  o'  mine — 
if  it  should  ever  come  sickening  to  my  heart 
that  e"e  or  tongue  was  false  that  belonged  to 
me — if  I  had  to  watch  my  laddies,  and  to 
stand  in  doubt  at  every  word  they  said — 
eh  !  Colin,  God  send  I  may  be  in  my  grave 
afoi'e  such  an  awfu'  fate  should  come  to  mc !  " 

Young  Colin  of  Ramore  answered  not  a 
word ;  he  stared  into  the  fire  instead,  mak- 
ing horrible  faces  unawares.  He  could  not 
have  denied,  had  he  been  taxed  with  it,  that 
tears  were  in  his  eyes ;  but  rather  than  shed 
them  he  would  have  endured  tortures ;  and 
any  expression  of  his  feelings  in  words  was 
more  impossible  still. 

"  No  as  if  I  was  a  better  woman  than  my 
mother,  or  worthy  o'  a  better  fate,"  said  the 
thoughtful  mistress  of  Ramore ;  "  for  she  was 
ane  o'  the  excellent  of  the  earth,  as  a'body 
kens  ;  and,  if  ever  a  woman  won  to  her  rest 
through  great  tribulations,  she  was  ane  ;  and, 
if  the  Lord  sent  the  cross,  he  would  send  the 
strength  to  bear  it.  But,  0  Colin,  my  man, 
it  would  be  kind  to  drown  your  mother  in  the 
loch,  or  fell  her  on  the  hill,  sooner  than  bring 
upon  her  such  great  anguish  and  trouble  as 
I  have  told  you  of  tliis  night !  " 

"Now,  wife,"  said  the  farmer,  interfer- 
ing, "you've  said  your  part.  Nae  such 
thought  is  in  Colin's  head.  Gang  you  and 
look  after  his  kist,  and  see  that  a'  thing's 
right ;  and  him  and  me  will  have  our  crack 
the  time  you're  away.  Your  mother's  an 
innocent  woman,"  said  big  Colin,  after  a 
pause,  when  she  had  gone  away  ;  "  she  kens 
nae  mair  of  the  world  than  the  bairn  on  her 
knee.  When  you're  a  man  you'll  ken  the 
benefit  of  taking  your  first  notions  from  a 
woman  like  that.  No  an  imagination  in  her 
mind  but  wliafs  good  and  true.  It's  hard 
work  fcchting  through  this  world  without 
marks  o'  the  battle,"  said  big  Colin,  with  a 
little  pathos  ;  "  but  a  man  wi'  the  likeo'  her 
by  his  side  maun  be  ill  indeed  if  he  gangs 
very  far  wrang.  It  mightna'  be  a'  to  the 
purpose,"  continued  the  farmer,  with  a  little 
of  his  half-conscious  common-sense  superi- 
ority," as  appeals  to  the  feelings  seldom  are; 
but,  Colin,  if  you  take  my  advice,  you'll 
mind  every  word  of  what  your  mother  says." 


A    SON    OF 

Colin  said  not  a  syllable  in  reply.  He  had 
got  rid  of  the  tears  safely,  which  was  a  great 
deal  gained  :  they  must  have  fallen  had  the 
mistress  remained  two  seconds  longer  looking 
at  him  with  her  soft,  beaming  eyes  ;  but  he 
had  not  quite  gulped  down  yet  that  climbing 
sorrow  which  had  him  by  the  throat.  Any- 
how, even  if  his  voice  had  been  at  his  own 
command ,  he  was  very  unlikely  to  have  made 
any  reply. 

"  Ye'll  find  a'  strange  when  ye  gang  to 
Glasgow,"  continued  the  farmer.  "  I'm  no 
feared  for  any  great  temptation,  except  idle- 
ness, besetting  a  callant  like  you  ;  but  a  man 
that  has  his  ain  bread  and  his  ain  way  to 
make  in  the  world  has  nae  time  for  idleness. 
You've  guid  abilities,  Colin,  and  if  they 
dinna  come  to  something  you'll  have  but 
yoursel'  to  blame  :  and  I  wouldna'  put  the 
reproach  on  my  !Maker  of  having  framed  a 
useless  soul  into  the  world,  if  I  were  you," 
said  big  Colin.  "  There's  never  ony  failures 
that  I  can  see  among  the  lower  creation, 
without  some  guid  reason  ;  but  it's  the  priv- 
ilege o'  men  to  fail  without  ony  caus^o'  fail- 
ure except  want  o'  will  to  do  weel.  When 
ye  see  the  like  of  George  for  instance,  ye  ask 
what  the  Lord  took  the  trouble  to  make  such 
a  ne'er-do-weel  for?"  said  the  homely  phi- 
Aosophef  ;  "  I  never  could  help  thinking,  for 
my  part,  that  it  was  labor  lost,  though  nae 
doubt  Providence  kent  better  ;  but  I  wouldna' 
be  like  that  if  I  could  help  it.  There's  no  a 
Billy  sheep  on  the  hill,  nor  horse  in  the  sta- 
ble, that  isna'  a  credit  to  Ilim  that  made  it. 
I  would  take  good  heed  no  to  put  mysel' 
beneath  the  brute  beasts,  if  I  were  you." 

"  I'm  no  meaning,"  cried  Colin,  with  un- 
grammatical  abruptness  and  a  little  offence ; 
for  he  was  pricked  in  his  pride  by  this  ad- 
dress, which  was  not,  according  to  his  fa- 
ther's ideas,  any  "appeal  to  his  feelings," 
but  a  calm  and  common-sense  way  of  putting 
an  argument  before  the  boy. 

"  I  never  said  you  were,"  said  the  farmer. 
"It'll  cost  us  hard  work  to  keep  ye  at  your 
studies,  and  I  put  it  to  your  honor  no  to 
waste  your  time ;  and  you'll  write  regular, 
and  mind  what  kind  o'  thoughts  your  mother's 
thinking  at  home  in  Ramore  ;  and  I  may  tell 
you,  Colin,  I  put  confidence  in  you,"  said  the 
fatlier,  laying  his  big  hand  with  a  heavy  mo- 
mentary pressure  upon  the  lad's  shoulder. 
"  Now,  good-night,  and  go  to  your  bed.  and 
prepare  for  the  morn." 


THE    SOIL.  19 

Such  were  the  parting  advices  with  which 
the  boy  was  sent  out  into  the  world.  His 
mother  was  in  his  room,  kneeling  before  his 
chest,  adding  the  last  particulars  to  its  store, 
when  Colin  entered  the  homely  little  chamber 
— but  what  they  said  to  each  other  before 
they  parted  was  for  nobody's  ear;  and  the 
morning  was  blazing  with  a  wintry  bright- 
ness, and  all  the  hills  standing  white  against 
the  sky,  and  the  heart  of  the  mistress  hope- 
ful as  the  day,  when  she  wiped  off  her  tears 
with  her  apron,  and  waved  her  farewell  to 
her  boy,  as  he  went  off  in  the  little  steamer 
which  twice  a  day  thrilled  the  loch  with 
communications  from  the  world.  "  He'll 
come  back  in  the  spring,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, as  she  went  about  her  homely  work, 
and  ordered  her  household.  And  so  young 
Colin  went  forth,  all  dauntless  and  cour- 
ageous, into  the  great  battle-field,  to  en- 
counter whatsoever  conflicts  might  come  to 
him,  and  to  conquer  the  big  world  and  all 
that  was  therein,  in  the  victorious  dreams  of 
his  youth. 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  first  disappointment  encountered  by 
the  young  hero  was  the  wonderful  shock  of 
finding  out  that  it  was  not  an  abstract  world 
he  had  to  encounter  and  fight  with,  but  that 
life  was  an  affair  of  days  and  hours  exactly 
as  at  Ramore,  which  was  about  his  first  real 
mental  experience  and  discovery.  It  was  a 
strange  mortification  to  Colin,  who  was,  like 
his  mother,  a  poet  in  his  soul,  to  find  out 
that  there  was  nothing  abstract  in  his  new 
existence,  but  that  a  perpetually  recurring 
round  of  lessons  to  learn,  and  classes  to  at- 
tend, and  meals  to  eat,  made  up  the  days, 
which  were  noways  changed  in  their  charac- 
ter from  those  days  which  he  had  already 
known  for  all  the  fifteen  years  of  his  life. 
After  the  first  shock,  however,  he  went  on 
with  undiminished  courage — for  at  fifteen  it 
is  so  easy  to  think  that  those  great  hours  are 
waiting  for  us  somewhere  in  the  undisclosed 
orb  of  existence.  Certainly  a  time  would 
come  when  every  day,  of  itself  a  radiant 
whole  and  complete  unity,  would  roll  forth 
majestic  like  the  earth  in  the  mystic  atmos- 
phere. He  had  missed  it  this  time,  but  after 
a  while  it  must  come ;  for  the  future,  like 
the  past,  works  wonders  upon  the  aspect  of 
time  ;  and  still  it  is  true  of  the  commonest 
hours  that  they — 


20 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


"  win 

A  glory  from  their  bein^j  far, 
And  orb  into  the  perfect  star 
We  saw  not  when  we  walked  therein." 

So  thought  Colin,  looking  at  them  from  the 
other  side,  and  seeing  a  perfection  •which  no- 
body ever  reached  in  this  world.  But  of 
course  he  did  not  know  that — so  he  post- 
poned those  grand  days  and  barred  them  up 
with  shining  doors,  on  which  was  written 
the  name  and  probable  date  of  the  next  great 
change  in  his  existence ;  and,  contenting 
himself  for  the  present  with  the  ordinary 
hours,  went  light-hearted  enough  upon  his 
boyish  way. 

A  little  adventure  which  occurred  to  the 
neojAyte  on  his  first  entrance  upon  this  new 
scene,  produced  results  for  him,  however, 
which  are  too  important  to  be  omitted  from 
his  history.  Everybody  who  has  been  in  that 
dingiest  of  cities  knows  that  the  students  at 
the  University  of  Glasgow,  small  as  their  in- 
fluence is  otherwise  upon  the  character  of  the 
town,  are  bound  to  do  it  one  superficial  ser- 
vice at  least.  Custom  has  ordained  that  they 
should  wear  red  gowns ;  and  the  fatigued 
traveller,  weary  of  the  universal  leaden 
gray,  can  alone  appreciate  fully  the  seilse  of 
gratitude  and  relief  occasioned  by  the  sudden 
gleam  of  scarlet  fluttering  up  the  long,  un- 
lovely street  on  a  November  day.  But  that 
artistic  sense  which  penetrates  but  slowly 
into  barbarous  regions  has  certainly  not  yet 
reached  the  students  of  Glasgow.  So  far 
from  considering  themselves  public  benefac- 
tors through  the  medium  of  their  red  gowns, 
there  is  no  expedient  of  boyish  ingenuity  to 
which  the  ignorant  youths  will  not  resort  to 
quench  the  splendid  tint,  and  reduce  its  glory 
as  nearly  as  possible  to  the  sombre  hue 
of  everything  around.  Big  Colin  of  Ra- 
more  was  unacquainted  with  the  tradition 
which  made  a  new  and  brilliant  specimen  of 
the  academic  robe  of  Glasgow  as  irritating  to 
the  students  as  the  color  is  supposed  to  be  to 
other  animals  of  excitable  temper  ;  and  the 
good  farmer  natua-ally  arrayed  his  son  in  a 
new  gown,  glorious  as  any  new  ensign  in  the 
first  delight  of  his  uniform.  As  for  Colin, 
he  Avas  far  from  being  delighted.  The  ter- 
rible thought  of  walking  through  the  streets 
in  that  blazing  costume  seriously  counter- 
balanced all  the  pleasure  of  independence, 
and  tlie  pi-ide  of  being  "at  college."  The 
poor  boy  slunk  along  by  the  least  frequented 


way,  and  stole  into  his  place  the  first  morn- 
ing like  a  criminal.  And  it  was  not  long  be- 
fore Colin  perceived  that  his  new  companions 
were  of  a  similar  opinion.  There  was  not 
another  gown  so  brilliant  as  his  own  among 
them  all.  The  greater  part  were  in  the  last 
stage  of  tatters  and  dingincss,  though  among 
a  company,  which  included  a  number  of  lads 
of  Colin's  own  age,  it  was  evident  that  there 
must'  be  many  v^ho  wore  the  unvenerated 
costume  for  the  first  time.  Dreams  of  rush- 
ing to  the  loch,  which  had  been  his  immedi- 
ate resource  all  his  life  hitherto,  and  soaking 
the  obnoxious  wrapper  in  the  salt-water,  con- 
fused his  mind  ;  but  he  was  not  prepared  for 
the  summary  measures  which  were  in  con- 
templation. As  soon  as  Colin  emerged  out 
of  the  shelter  of  the  class-room ,  his  persecu- 
tion commenced.  He  was  mobbed,  hustled, 
pelted,  until  his  spirit  was  roused.  The 
gown  was  odious  enough  ;  but  Colin  was  not 
the  lad  to  have  even  the  thing  he  most  wanted 
imposed  upon  him  by  force.  As  soon  as  he 
was  aware  of  the  meaning  of  his  tormentors, 
the  coiyjjtry  boy  stood  up  for  his  gown.  He 
gathered  the  glowing  folds  round  him,  and 
struck  out  fiercely,  bringing  down  one  of 
his  adversaries.  Colin,  however,  was  alone 
against  a  multitude ;  and  what  might  have 
happened  either  to  himself  or  his  gown  it 
would  have  been  difiicult  to  predict,  had  not 
an  unexpected  defender  come  in  to  the  rescue. 
Next  to  Colin  in  the  class-room  a  man  of  about 
tW'ice  his  age  bad  been  seated — a  man  of 
thirty,  whose  gaunt  shoulders  brushed  the 
boy's  fair  locks,  and  whose  mature  and 
thoughtful  head  rose  strangely  over  the 
young  heads  around.  It  was  he  who  strode 
through  the  ring,  and  dispersed  Colin's  ad- 
versaries. 

"  For  shame  o'  yourselves!  "  he  said  in  a 
deep  bass  voice,  which  contrasted  wonder- 
fully with  the  young  falsettoes  round  him. 
"  Leave  the  laddie  alone  ;  he  knows  no  bet- 
ter. I'll  lick  ye  a'  for  a  set  of  schoolboys, 
if  you  don't  let  him  be  !  Here,  boj',  take  off 
the  red  rag  and  throw  it  to  me,"  said  Colin's 
new  champion  ;  but  the  Campbell  blood  was 
up. 

"I'll  no  take  it  off,"  cried  Colin;  "it's 
my  ain,  and  I'll  wear  it  if  I  like;  and  I'll 
fell  anybody  that  meddles  with  me  !  " 

Upon  wliieh,  as  was  natural,  a  wonderful 
scuflle  ensued.  Colin  never  knew  perfectly 
how  he  was  extricated  from  tliis  alarming 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


21 


situation  ;  but,  when  he  came  to  himself,  he 
was  iu  the  streets  on  his  way  home,  with  his 
new  friend  by  his  side — very  stiff  and  aching 
in  every  limb,  with  one  sleeve  of  his  gown 
torn  out,  and  its  glory  minished  by  the  mud 
which  had  been  thrown  at  it,  but  still  held 
tightly  as  he  had  gathered  it  round  him  at 
the  first  affray.  When  he  recovered  so  far  as 
to  hear  some  sound  besides  his  own  panting 
breath,  Colin  discovered  that  the  gaunt  giant 
by  his  side  was  preaching  at  him  in  a  leis- 
urely, reflective  way  from  his  eminence  of  six 
feet  two  or  three.  Big  Colin  of  Ramore  was 
but  six  feet,  and  at  that  altitude  two  or  three 
inches  tell.  The  stranger  looked  gigantic  in 
his  lean  length  as  the  boy  looked  up,  half- 
wondering,  half-defiant,  to  hear  what  he  was 
saying.  What  he  said  sounded  wonderfully 
like  preaching,  so  high  up  and  so  composed 
was  the  voice  which  kept  on  arguing  over 
Colin's  head,  with  an  indifference  to  whether 
he  listened  or  not,  which,  in  ordinary  con- 
versation, is  somewhat  rare  to  see. 

"  It  might  be  right  to  stand  op  for  your 
gown;  I'll  no  commit  myself  to  say,"  was 
the  first  sentence  of  the  discourse  which  fell 
on  Colin's  ear  ;  "for  there's  no  denying  it 
was  your  own,  and  a  man,  or  even  a  callant, 
according  to  the  case  in  point,  has  a  right  to 
wear  what  he  likes,  if  he's  no  under  lawful 
authority,  nor  the  garment  offensive  to  de- 
cency ;  but  it  would  have  been  more  prudent 
on  the  present  occasion  to  have  taken  off  the 
red  rag  as  I  advised.  It's  a  remnant  of  su- 
perstition in  itself,  and  I'm  no  altogether  sure 
that  my  conscience,  if  it  was  put  to  the  ques- 
tion, would  approve  of  wearing  gowns  at  all, 
unless,  indeed,  it  had  ceased  to  be  customary 
to  wear  other  garments ;  but  that's  an  un- 
likely case,  and  I  would  not  ask  you  to  take 
it  into  consideration,"  said  the  calm  voice, 
half  a  mile  over  Colin's  head.  "  It's  a  kind 
of  relic  of  the  monastic  system,  which  is  out 
of  accordance  with  modern  ideas ;  but,  as 
you're  no  old  enough  to  have  any  opin- 
ions— " 

"  I  have  as  good  a  right  to  have  opinions 
as  you!  "  exclaimed  Colin,  promptly,  glad  of 
an  opportunity  to  contradict  and  defy  some- 
body, and  get  rid  of  the  fumes  of  his  excite- 
ment. 

"That's  no  the  subject  under  discussion," 
said  the  stranger.  "  I  never  said  any  man 
had  a  right  to  opinions  ;  I  incline  to  the 
other  side  of  that  question  mysel' .    The  thing 


we  were  arguing  was  the  gown.  A  new  red 
I  gown  is  as  aggravating  to  the  students  of 
:  Glasgow  University  as  if  they  were  so  many 
{  bulls — no  that  I  mean  to  imply  that  they're 
j  anything  so  forcible.  You'll  have  to  yield  to 
I  the  popular  superstitions  if  you  would  live  in 
peace." 

"  I'm  no  heeding  about  living  in  peace," 
interrupted  Colin.  "I'm  no  feared.  It's 
naebody's  business  but  my  ain.  My  gown  is 
my  gown,  and  I'll  no  change  it  if — " 

"Let  me  speak,"  said  his  new  friend; 
"  you're  terrible  talkative  for  a  callant. 
Where  do  you  live?  I'll  go  home  with  ye 
and  argue  the  question.  Besides,  you've  got 
a  knock  on  the  head  there  that  wants  looking 
to,  and  I  suppose  you're  in  Glasgow  by  your- 
self'?  You  needua'  thank  me,  it's  no  neces- 
sary," said  the  stranger,  with  a  bland  move- 
ment of  the  hand. 

"I  wasna'  meaning  to  thank  you.  I'm 
living  in  Donaldson's  Land,  and  I  can  take 
care  of  myself,"  said  Colin.  But  the  boy 
was  no  match  for  his  experienced  classfellow, 
who  went  on  calmly  preaching  as  before,  ar- 
guing all  kinds  of  questions,  till  the  two  ar- 
rived at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  which  led  to 
Colin's  humble  lodging.  The  stair  was  long, 
narrow,  and  not  very  clean.  It  bore  stains 
of  spilt  milk  on  one  flight,  and  long  droppings 
of  water  on  another  ;  and  all  the  miscellane- 
ous smells  of  half  a  dozen  different  households, 
none  of  them  particularly  dainty  in  thei#hab- 
its,  were  caught  and  concentrated  in  the  deep 
well  of  a  staircase,  into  which  they  all  opened. 
Colin's  abode  was  at  the  very  top.  His  land- 
lady was  a  poor  widow,  who  had  but  three 
rooms,  and  a  host  of  children.  The  smallest 
of  the  three  rooms  was  let  to  Colin,  and  in 
the  other  two  she  put  up  somehow  her  own 
sons  and  daughters,  and  did  her  mantua-mak- 
ing,  and  accomplished  her  humble  cookery. 
The  rooms  had  sloping  roofs  and  attic  win- 
dows ;  and  two  chairs  and  a  slip  of  carpet 
made  Colin's  apartment  splendid.  Colin  led 
the  way  for  his  "friend,"  not  without  a 
slight  sentiment  of  pride,  which  had  taken 
the  place  of  his  first  annoyance.  After  all, 
it  was  imposing  to  his  imagination  to  have 
his  society  sought  by  another  student,  a  man 
so  much  older  than  himself ;  and  Colin  was 
not  unaware  of  the  worship  which  it  would 
gain  for  him  in  the  eyes  of  his  hostess,  who 
had  looked  on  him  dubiously  on  the  day  of 
his  arrival,  and  designated  him  "  little  mair 


22  A    SON    OF 

than  a  bairn."  Colin  was  very  gracious  in 
doing  the  honors  of  liis  room  to  his  unsolicited 
visitor,  and  spoke  loud  out  that  Mrs.  Fergus 
Blight,  hear.  "You'll  have  to  stoop  when 
}''0u  go  in  at  that  door,"  said  the  boy,  already 
learning  with  natural  art  to  shine  in  reflected 
glory.  But  Colin  was  less  complacent  when 
they  had  entered  the  room,  half  from  natural 
shyness,  half  from  an  equally  natural  defiance 
and  opposition  to  the  grown-up  and  experi- 
enced person  who  had  escorted  him  home. 

"  Well,"  said  this  strange  personage,  stoop- 
ing grimly  to  contemplate  himself  in  the  lit- 
tle square  of  looking-glass  which  hung  over 
Colin's  table  ;  "  you  and  me  arc  no  very  like 
classfcUows  ;  but  I  like  a  laddie  that  has 
some  spirit  and  stands  up  for  his  rights.  Of 
course  you  come  from  the  country  ;  but  first 
come  here,  my  boy,  before  you  answer  any 
questions,  and  let  me  see  that  knock  on  your 
head." 

"  I  had  nae  intention  of  answering  any 
questions;  and  lean  take  cai'e  of  myself," 
answered  Colin,  hanging  back  and  declining 
the  invitation.  The  stranger,  however,  only 
smiled,  stretched  out  his  long  arm,  and  drew 
the  boy  towards  him.  And  certainly  he  had 
received  a  cut  on  the  head  which  required  to 
Ix;  attended  to.  Reluctant  as  he  was,  the  lad 
was  too  shy  to  make  any  active  resistance, 
even  if  he  had  possessed  moral  courage  enough 
to  oppose  successfully  the  will  of  a  man  so 
muctftelder  than  himself.  lie  submitted  to 
have  the  cut  bathed  and  plastered  up,  which 
his  new  friend  did  with  the  utmost  tender- 
ness, delivering  a  slow  and  lengthy  address 
all  the  while  over  his  head.  When  the  opor- 
ation  was  over,  Colin  was  more  and  more  per- 
plexed what  to  do  with  his  visitor  ;  though  a 
■little  faint  after  his  fight  and  excitement,  he 
was  still  well  enough  to  be  very  hungry,  but 
the  idea  of  asking  this  unknown  friend  to 
share  his  dinner  did  not  occur  to  him.  lie 
had  never  done  anything  beyond  launching 
the  boat,  or  mounting  the  horses  on  his  own 
responsibility  before,  and  he  could  not  tell 
what  Mrs.  Fergus  would  think  of  his  wound 
or  his  visitor.  Altogether  Colin  was  highly 
perplexed  and  not  over  civil,  and  sat  down 
upon  the  edge  of  a  chair  facing  the  intruder 
with  an  expression  of  countenance  very  plainly 
intimating  that  he  thought  him  much  in  the 
way. 

But  the  stranger  was  much  above  any  con- 
eideration  of  Colin's  countenance.    He  was 


THE    SOIL. 

very  tall,  as  we  have  said,  very  gaunt  and 

meagre,  v/ith  a  long,  pale  face  surmounted 

by  black  locks,  thin   and   dishevelled.     He 

had  a  black  beard,  too — a  thing  much  less 

common  at  that  time  than  now — which  in- 

^  creased  his  general  aspect  of  dishevelment. 

His  eyes  were  large,  and  looked  larger  from 

^  the  great  sockets  hollowed  out  by  something 

more  than  years,  from  wliich  they  looked  out 

I  as  from  two  pale  caverns  ;  and,  with  all  this 

j  gauntness  of  aspect,  his  smile,  when  he  smiled, 

I  which  was  seldom,  tlu-ew  a  wonderful  light 

I  over  his  face,  and  reminded  Colin  somehow, 

j  he  could  not  tell  how,  of  the  sudden  gleam  of 

the  sun  over  the  Holy  Loch  when  the  clouds 

were  at  the  darkest,  and  melted  the  boy's 

heart  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  I  was  saying  we  were  not  very  like  class- 
fellows,"  said  the  stranger  ;  "  that's  a  queer 
feature  in  our  Scotch  colleges  ;  there's  you, 
a  great  deal  too  young,  and  me  a  great  deal 
too  old  ;  and  here  we  meet  for  the  same  pur- 
pose, to  learn  two  dead  languages  and  some 
sciences  that  are  only  half  living  ;  and  that's 
the  only  way  for  cither  you  or  me  to  get  our- 
selves made  ministers.  The  English  system's 
an  awful  deal  better,  I'm  meaning  in  theory 
— as  for  the  practice,  that's  neither  here  nor 
there.  Nothing's  right  in  practice.  It's  a 
great  thing  to  have  a  right  idea  at  the  bottom 
if  you  can." 

"  Are  you  to  be  a  minister?  "  said  Colin, 
not  well  knowing  what  to  say. 

"  When  I  was  like  you  I  thought  so,"  said 
his  new  friend  ;  "  it's  a  long  time  since  then ; 
but,  when  I  get  a  good  grip  of  an  idea,  it's 
no'  easy  to  get  it  out  of  my  head  again.  This 
is  my  second  session  only,  for  all  that,"  he 
said,  after  a  momentary  pause  ;  "  many  a 
thing  I  little  thought  of  has  stood  in  my  way. 
I'm  little  further  on  than  you ,  though  I  sup- 
pose I'm  twice  your  age  ;  but  to  be  sure  you 
are  far  too  young  for  the  college  ;  that's  what 
the  Greek  professor  in  Edinburgh  isaye  hav- 
ering about ;  he  might  turn  to  the  other  side 
of  the  question  if  he  knew  me."  And  the 
stranger  interrupted  his  own  monologue  to 
give  vent  to  a  long-drawn  breath,  l)y  way  of 
a  sigh,  which  agitated  the  atmosphere  in  Co- 
lin's little  room,  as  if  it  had  been  a  sudden 
breeze. 

"  ]\Ir.  Ilardie's  son  was  only  thirteen  when 
he  went  to  the  college ;  and  that's  two  years 
younger  than  me,"  said  Colin,  with  some 
indignation.     The  lad  heard  a  sound,  as  of 


A    SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 


knives  and  plates,  outside,  and  pricked  up 
his  ears.  He  was  hungry,  and  his  strange 
visitor  seemed  rooted  upon  his  hard,  rush- 
bottomed  chair.  But,  just  as  Colin's  mind 
was  framing  this  thought,  his  companion 
suddenly  gathered  himself  up,  rising  in 
folds,  as  if  there  was  never  to  be  an  end  of 
him. 

"You  want  your  dinner?"  he  said;  "come 
with  me,  it  will  do  you  good.  What  you 
were  to  have  will  keep  till  to-morrow ;  tell 
the  decent  woman  so,  and  come  with  mc. 
I^m  poor,  but  you  shall  have  something  you 
can  eat,  and  I'll  show  you  what  to  do  when 
you  are  tired  of  her  provisions ;  bo  come 
along." 

"  I  would  rather  stay  at  home,"  said  Co- 
lin ;  "  I  don't  know  you  ;  I  don't  know  even 
your  name,"  he  added  a  minute  after,  feel- 
ing that  he  was  about  to  yield  to  the  strong 
influence  which  was  upon  him,  and  doing 
what  he  could  to  save  himself. 

"  My  name's  Lauderdale  ;  that's  easy  set- 
tled," said  the  stranger;  "tell  the  honest 
woman ;  what's  her  name? — I'll  do  it  for  you. 
Mrs.  Fergus,  my  yov.ng  friend  here  is  going 
to  dinner  with  me.  He'll  be  back  by  and 
by  to  his  studies ;  and,  in  the  mean  time," 
said  Colin's  self-constituted  guardian,  put- 
ting the  lad  before  him  and  pausing  in  the 
passage  to  speak  to  the  widow,  who  regarded 
his  great  height  and  strange  appearance  with 
a  little  curiosity,  "take  you  charge  of  his 
gown ;  put  it  up  the  chimney,  or  give  it  a 
good  wash  out  with  soap  and  soda ;  it's  too 
grand  for  Glasgow  College ;  the  sooner  it 
comes  to  be  like  this,"  said  the  gigantic 
visitor,  holding  up  his  own,  which  was  of  a 
dingy  port- wine  color,  "the  better  for  the 
boy." 

'And  then  Colin  found  himself  again  walk- 
ing along  the  Glasgow  streets,  in  the  murky, 
early  twilight  of  that  November  afternoon, 
with  this  strange,  unknown  figure  which  was 
leading  him  he  knew  not  whither.  Was  it 
a  good  or  a  bad  angel  which  had  thus  taken 
possession  of  the  fresh  life  and  unoccupied 
mind?  Colin  could  not  resist  the  fascination 
which  was  half  dislike  and  half  admiration. 
He  went  along  quietly  by  the  side  of  the  tall 
student,  who  kept  delivering  over  his  head 
that  flood  of  monotonous  talk.  The  boy 
grew  interested  even  in  the  talk  before  they 
had  gone  far,  and  went  on,  a  little  anxious 
about  his  dinner,  but  still  more  curious  con- 


23 

cerning  the  companion  with  whom  fate  had 
provided  him  so  soon. 

CHAPTER  yi. 
"  No  that  I  mean  to  say  I  believe  in  fate," 
said  Lauderdale,  when  they  had  finished  their 
meal ;  "  though  there  is  little  doubt  in  my 
mind  that  what  happens  is  ordained.  I 
couldna  tell  why,  for  my  part,  though  1 
believe  in  the  fact — for  most  things  in  life 
come  to  nothing,  and  the  grandest  train  of 
causes  produce  nac  effect  whatever ;  that's 
my  experience.  Indeed,  it's  often  a  wonder 
to  me,"  said  the  homely  philosopher,  who 
was  not  addressing  himself  particularly  to 
Colin,  "  what  the  Almighty  took  the  trouble 
to  make  man  for  at  a'.  He's  a  poor  creature 
at  the  best,  and  gives  anawfu'  deal  of  trouble 
for  very  little  good.  Considering  all  things, 
I'm  of  opinion  that  we're  little  better  than 
an  experiment, — and  very  likely  we've  been 
greatly  improved  upon  in  mair  recent  crea- 
tions. Are  you  pleased  with  your  dinner  ? 
You're  young  now,  and  canna'  have  much 
standing  against  you  in  the  great  books. 
Do  you  ever  think,  laddie,  of  what  you  mean 
to  be?" 

"I  mean  to  be  a  minister,"  said  Colin, 
with  a  furious  blush.  His  thoughts  on  the 
subject,  if  he  could  but  have  expressed  them, 
were  magnificent  enough,  but  nothing  was 
more  impossible  to  the  shy  country  lad  than 
to  explain  the  ambition  which  glowed  in 
his  eager,  visionary  mind.  He  would  have 
sacrificed  a  finger  at  any  time,  rather  than 
talk  of  the  vague  but  splendid  intentions 
which  were  fermenting  secretly  in  absolute 
silence  within  his  reserved  Scotch  bosom. 
His  new  friend  looked  with  a  little  curiosity 
at  the  subdued  brightness  of  the  boy's  eyes, 
which  spoke  more  emphatically  than  his 
words. 

"They  a'  mean  to  be  ministers,"  said 
Lauderdale,  in  his  reflective  way ;  "  half  of 
them  would  do  far  better  to  be  cobblers  ;  but 
nae  fool  could  ever  be  persuaded.  As  for 
you,  I  think  there's  something  in  you,  or  I 
wouldna  have  fashed  my  head  about  you  and 
your  gown.  You've  got  a  fair  start,  and 
nae  drawljacks.  I  would  like  to  see  you  go 
straight  forward,  and  be  good  for  something 
in  your  generation.  You  needna  look  glum 
at  me  ;  I'll  never  be  good  for  much  mysel'. 
You  see  I've  learned  to  be  fond  of  talking," 
he  said,  philosophically;  "and  a  man  that 


24  A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 

takes  up  that  line  early  in  life  seldom  comes  !  know  your   privileges  ;  you  believe  cvery- 
to  much  good  ;  though  I  grant  you  there's   thing  you've  been  brought  up  to  believe,  and 

are  far  more  sure  in  your  own  mind  what's 
false  and  what's  true  than  a  college  of  doc- 
tors. I  would  rather  be  you  than  a'  the 
pliilosophers  in  tlie  world." 

"I'm  no  a  fool  to  believe  everytliing," 
said  Colin,  angrily  rousing  himself  up  from 
his  dreams. 

"No,"  said  his  companion,  "  far  from  a 
fool ;  it's  true  wisdom,  if  you  could  but  keep 
it.  But  the  present  temper  of  the  world," 
said  the  philoBopher,  calmly,  "  is  to  conclude 
that  there's  nothing  a'thcgither  false,  and 
few  things  particularly  true.  When  you're 
tired  of  the  dinners  in  Donaldson's  Land," 
he  continued,  without  any  charge  of  tone, 
"  and  from  the  looks  of  tlie  honest  woman  T 
would  not  say  much  for  the  cookery,  you  can 
come  and  get  your  dinner  here.  In  the  mean 
time,  I'll  take  ye  up  to  Buchanan  Street,  if 
you  like.  It's  five  o'clock,  and  the  shop- 
windows  are  lighted  by  this  time.  I'm  very 
fond  of  the  lights  in  the  shop-windows  my- 
sel'.  When  I've  been  a  poor  laddie  about 
the  streets,  the  lights  aye  looked  friendly, 
which  is  more  than  the  folk  within  do  when 
you've  no  siller.  Come  along ;  it's  no  trouble 
to  me,  and  I  like  to  have  somebody  to  talk 
to,"  said  Lauderdale. 

Colin  got  up  very  reluctantly,  feeling  him- 
self unable  to  resist  the  strange  personal  fas- 
cination thus  exercised  over  him.  The  idea 
of  being  only  somebody  to  talk  to  mortilied 
the  boy's  pride,  but  he  could  not  shake  him- 
self free  from  the  influence  which  had  taken 
possession  of  him.  He  was  only  fifteen,  and 
his  companion  was  thirty  ;  and  the  shy  coun- 
try lad  had  no  power  to  enfranchise  himself. 
He  went  after  the  tall  figure  into  the  street 
with  very  mingled  feelings.  The  stream  of 
talk,  which  kept  flowing  on  above  him,  stim- 
ulated Colin's  mind  into  the  most  vigorous 
action.  Such  talk  was  not  incomprehensible 
to  a  boy  who  had  been  trained  at  Ramore ; 
but  the  philosphcrs  of  the  Holy  Loch  were 
orthodox,  and  this  specimen  of  impartial 
thoughtfulness  roused  all  the  fire  of  youthful 
polemics  in  Colin's  bosom.  lie  set  down  his 
companion  unhesitatingly,  of  course,  as  a 
"  sceptic,"  perhaps  an  infidel;  and  was  al- 
most longing  to  rush  in  upon  him,  with  arbi- 
trary boyish  zeal  and  disdain,  to  make  an  end 
on  the  spot  of  his  mistaken  opinions.  As  for 
Colin  himself,  he  was  very  sure  of  everything, 


exceptions,  like  Macaulay,  for  example.  I 
was  just  entered  at  college,  when  my  father 
died,"  he  continued,  falling  into  a  historical 
strain.  "  I  was  only  a  laddie  like  yoursel', 
but  I  had  to  give  up  that  thought,  and  work 
to  help  the  rest.  Now  they  are  all  scattered, 
and  my  mother  dead,  and  I'm  my  own  mas- 
ter. No  that  I'm  much  the  better  for  that ; 
but,  you  see,  after  I  got  this  situation —  " 

"  What  situation?  "  said  Colin,  quickly. 

"  Oh,  an  honorable  occupation,"  said  his 
tall  friend,  with  a  gradually  brightening 
smile.  "  There's  ane  of  the  same  trade  men- 
tioned with  commendation  in  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles.  Him  and  St.  Paul  were  great 
friends.  But  you  see  I'm  free  for  the  most 
part  of  the  day  :  and,  it  being  a  fixed  idea 
in  my  mind  that  I  was  to  go  to  the  college 
some  time  or  other,  it  was  but  natural  that 
I  should  enter  mysel'  as  soon  as  I  was  able. 
I  may  go  forward,  and  I  may  not ;  it  de- 
pends on  the  world  more  than  on  me.  So 
your  name's  Colin  Campbell? — the  same  as 
Sir  Colin  ;  but  if  you're  to  be  a  minister,  you 
can  never  be  anything  mair  than  a  minister. 
In  any  other  line  of  life  a  lad  can  rise  if  he 
likes,  but  there's  nae  promotion  possible  to 
a  minister.  If  I  were  you  and  fifteen,  I 
would  choose  another  trade." 

To  this  Colin  answered  nothing  ;  the  sug- 
gestion staggered  him  considerably,  and  he 
was  not  prepared  with  anything  to  say.  He 
looked  round  the  shabby  room,  and  watched 
the  shabby  tavern-waiter  carrying  his  dinner 
to  some  other  customer;  and  Colin's  new 
unaccustomed  eyes  saw  something  imposing 
even  in  the  aspect  of  this  poor  place.  He 
thought  of  the  great  world  which  seemed  to 
surge  outside  in  a  ceaseless  roar,  coming  and 
going — the  world  in  which  all  sorts  of  hon- 
ors and  j^xjwers  seemed  to  go  begging,  seek- 
ing owners  worthy  to  possess  them  ;  and  he 
was  pursuing  this  ei:)lendid  chain  of  possi- 
bilities, when  Lauderdale  resumed  his  mono- 
logue : — 

"  The  Kirk's  in  a  queer  kind  of  condition 
a'thcgither,"  said  the  tall  student,  "  so  arc 
most  Kirks.  Whenever  you  hit  upon  a  man 
that  kens  what  he  wants,  all's  well ;  but 
that  happens  seldom.  It's  no  my  case  for 
one.  And  as  for  you,  you're  no  at  the  age 
to  trouble  your  head  about  doctrine.  You're 
a  young  prince   at  your  years — you  don't 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


as  was  natural  to  his  years,  and  had  never 
entertained  any  doubts  that  the  Shorter  Cate- 
chism was  as  inftillible  a  standard  of  truth 
as  it  was  a  terrible  infliction  upon  the  youth- 
ful memory.  Colin  went  along  the  murky 
streets,  by  his  companion's  side,  thinking 
within  himself  that,  perhaps,  his  own  better 
arguments  and  higher  reason  might  convert 
this  mistaken  man,  and  so  listened  to  him 
eagerly  as  they  proceeded  together  along  the 
long  line  of  the  Trongate,  much  excited  by 
bis  own  intentions,  and  feeling  somehow,  in 
his  boyish  heart,  that  this  universal  stimula- 
tion of  everything,  within  and  without,  was 
a  real  beginning  of  life.  For  everything  was 
new  to  the  country  boy,  who  had  never  in 
bis  life  before  been  out  of  doors. at  night  any- 
where, save  in  the  silent  country  roads, 
through  darkness  lighted  by  the  moon,  or, 
when  there  was  no  moon,  by  the  pale  glim- 
mer of  the  loch.  Now  his  eyes  were  dazzled 
by  the  lights,  and  all  his  senses  kept  in  ex- 
ercise by  the  necessity  of  holding  liis  own 
way,  and  resisting  the  pressure  of  the  human 
current  which  flowed  past  him  ;  while  Lau- 
derdale kept  talking  of  a  hundred  things 
which  were  opposed  to  the  belief  of  the  lad, 
and  which,  amid  all  this  unaccustomed  hub- 
bub, he  had  to  listen  to  with  all  his  might 
lest  he  should  lose  the  thread  of  the  argu- 
ment— a  loose  thread  enough,  certainly,  but 
still  with  some  coherence  and  connection. 
All  this  made  Colin's  heart  thrill  with  a 
warmer  consciousness  of  life.  He  was  only 
in  Glasgow,  among  floods  of  dusky  craftsmen 
going  home  from  their  work ;  but  it  appeared 
to  his  young  eyes  that  he  had  suddenly  fallen 
upon  the  most  frequented  ways  of  life  and 
into  the  heart  of  the  vast  world. 

"  I'm  fond  of  a  walk  in  the  Trongate  my- 
Bel',  especially  when  the  lamps  are  lighted," 
said  Lauderdale ;  "  I  never  heard  of  a  philos- 
opher but  was.  No  that  I  am  a  philosopher, 
but —  It's  here  ye  see  the  real  aspect  of 
human  affairs.  Here,  take  the  shop-windows, 
or  take  the  passengers,  there's  little  to  be 
seen  but  what's  necessary  to  life ;  but  yon- 
der," said  the  reflective  student,  pointing 
over  Colin's  head  to  the  street  they  were  ap- 
proaching, "  there's  nothing  but  luxury.  We 
spend  a  great  deal  of  siller  in  Glasgow — we're 
terrible  rich,  some  of  us,  and  like  the  best  of 
everything — but  there's  no  so  much  difference 
as  you  would  think.  I  have  no  pleasure  in 
this  side  of  wealth  for  my  part ;  there's  an 


25 

awful  suggestion  of  eating  and  drinking  in 
everything  about  here.  Even  the  grand  fur- 
niture and  the  pictures  have  a  kind  of  haze 
about  them,  as  if  ye  could  only  see  them 
through  a  dinner.  I  don't  pretend  to  have 
any  knowledge  for  my  own  part  of  rich  men's 
feasts  ;  but  it's  no  pleasant  to  think  that 
Genius  and  Art,  no  to  speak  of  a  great  deal 
of  skilful  workmanship,  should  be  all  subser- 
vient to  a  man's  pleasure  in  his  dinner,  and 
that  thafs  what  they're  here  for.  Hallo, 
laddie,  I  thought  you  had  no  friends  in  Glas- 
gow ?  there's  somebody  yonder  waving  their 
hands  to  you.  What  do  you  hang  back  for? 
It's  a  lady  in  a  carriage.  Have  you  no  re- 
spect for  yoursel'  that  you're  so  slow  to  an- 
swer?" cried  Colin's  monitor,  indignantly. 
Colin  would  gladly  have  sunk  through  the 
pavement,  or  darted  up  a  friendly  dark  alley 
which  presented  itself  close  by,  but  such  an 
escape  was  not  possible.  It  was  Lady  Frank- 
land  who  was  making  signals  to  him  out  of 
the  carriage-window  ;  and  in  all  his  awk- 
wardness, he  was  obliged  to  obey  them. 

As  for  Lauderdale,  whose  curiosity  was  con- 
siderably excited,  he  betook  himself  to  the 
window  of  a  printshop  to  await  his  ■protege, 
not  without  some  surprise  in  his  mind.  lie 
knew  pretty  nearly  as  much  about  Colin  by 
this  time  as  the  boy  himself  did,  though  Co- 
lin was  quite  unaware  of  having  opened  up 
his  personal  history  to  his  new  friend  ;  but 
he  had  heard  nothing  about  young  Frank- 
land,  that  being  an  episode  in  his  life  of 
which  the  country  lad  was  not  proud.  Lau- 
derdale stood  at  the  printshop  window  with 
a  curious  kind  of  half- pathetic  egotism  min- 
gling with  his  kindly  observation.  No  fair 
vision  of  women  ever  gleamed  across  his  firma- 
ment. He  was  just  about  shaking  hands 
with  youth,  and  no  lady's  face  had  ever  bent 
over  him  like  a  star  out  of  the  firmament,  as 
the  gracious  countenance  of  the  English  lady 
was  just  then  bending  over  the  farmer's  son 
from  Ramore.  "  It's  maybe  the  duchess," 
said  Lauderdale  to  himself,  thinking  of  the 
natural  feudal  princess  of  the  lochs  ;  and  he 
looked  with  greater  interest  still,  withdrawn 
out  of  hearing,  but  near  enough  to  see  all 
that  passed.  Colin  for  his  part  did  not  know 
in  the  least  what  to  say  or  to  do.  He  stood 
before  the  carriage  looking  sulky  in  the  ex- 
cess of  his  embarrassment,  and  did  not  even 
take  off  his  caj)  to  salute  the  lady,  as  coun- 
try politeness  and  his  anxious  mother  had 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


taught  him.  And,  to  aggravate  the  matter, 
there  was  a  bewildering  little  girl  in  the  car- 
riage with  Lady  Frankland — a  creature  with 
glorious  curls  over  her  shoulders,  and  a  won- 
derful perfection  of  juvenile  toilette,  which 
somehow  dazzled  Colin's  unused  and  ignorant 
ey*.  In  the  midst  of  his  awkwardness  it  oc- 
curred to  the  boy  to  note  this  little  lady's 
dress,  which  was  a  strange  thing  enough  for 
him,  who  did  not  know  one  article  of  femi- 
nine attire  from  another.  It  was  not  her 
beauty  so  much  as  the  delicacy  of  all  her  lit- 
tle equipments  which  amazed  Colin,  and  pre- 
vented him  from  hearing  what  Lady  Frank- 
laud  had  to  say. 

"So  you  have  gone  to  the  university?" 
said  that  gracious  lady.  "  You  are  ever  so 
much  further  advanced  than  Harry,  who  is 
only  a  schoolboy  as  yet :  but  the  Scotch  are 
so  clever.  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  dear 
Hurry  is  quite  well,  and  enjoying  himself 
very  much  at  Eton,"  continued  Harry's 
mother,  who  meant  to  be  very  kind  to  the 
boy  who  had  saved  her  son's  life.  Now  the 
very  name  of  Harry  Frankland  had,  he  could 
not  have  told  how,  a  certain  exasperating  ef- 
fect upon  Colin.  He  said  nothing  in  answer 
to  the  gracious  intelligence,  but  unconsciously 
gave  a  little  frown  of  natural  opposition, 
which  Lady  Frankland's  eyes  were  not  suffi- 
ciently interested  to  see. 

'•  He  doesn't  care  for  Harry,  aunt,"  said 
the  miniature  woman  by  Lady  Frankland's 
side,  darting  out  of  the  dusky  twilight  a  sud- 
den flash  of  perception,  under  which  Colin 
stood  convicted.  She  was  several  years 
younger  than  he,  but  a  world  in  advance  of 
him  in  every  other  respect.  A  little  amuse- 
ment and  a  little  offence  were  in  the  voice, 
which  seemed  to  Colin,  with  its  high-bred 
accent  and  wonderful  "English,"  like  the 
vcfice  of  another  kind  of  creature  from  any  he 
had  encountered  before.  Was  she  a  little 
witch,  to  know  what  he  was  thinking  ?  And 
then  a  little  laugh  of  triumph  rounded  off  the 
sentence,  and  the  unfortunate  boy  stood  more 
speechless,  more  awkward,  more  incapable 
than  before. 

"  Nonsense,  ]\Iatty ;  when  you  know  we 
owe  Harry's  life  to  him,"  said  bland  Lady 
Frankland.  "  You  must  come  and  dine  with 
us  to-morrow  ;  indeed  you  must.  Sir  Thomas 
and  I  arc  both  so  anxious  to  know  more  of 
you.  Sir  Thomas  would  be  so  pleased  to  for- 
ward your  views  in  any  way  ;  but  the  Scotch 


arc  so  independent,"  she  said,  with  her  most 
flattering  smile.  ' '  Was  that  your  tutor  who 
was  walking  with  you,  that  very  tall  man? 
I  am  sure  we  should  be  delighted  to  see  him 
too.  I  suppose  he  is  something  in  the  uni- 
versity. Oh  !  here  comes  my  husband.  Sir 
Thomas  this  is — oh  !  I  am  sure  I  beg  your 
pardon  ;  I  forgot  your  name — the  dear,  brave, 
excellent  boy  who  saved  Harry's  life." 

Upon  which  Sir  Thomas,  coming  out  of  one 
of  the  shops,  in  that  radiance  of  cleanness 
and  neatness,  perfectly  brushed  whiskers, 
and  fresh  face,  which  distinguishes  his  class, 
shook  hands  heartily  with  the  reluctant 
Colin. 

"  To  be  sure,  he  must  dine  with  us  to-mor- 
row," said  the  good-humored  baronet,  "  and 
bring  his  tutor  if  he  likes ;  but  I  thought 
you  had  no  tutors  at  the  Scotch  universities. 
I  want  to  know  what  you're  about,  and  what 
your  ideas  are  on  a  great  many  subjects,  my 
line  fellow.  Your  father  is  tremendously 
proud,  and  so  are  you,  I  suppose  ;  but  he's 
a  capital  specimen  of  a  man,  and  I  hope  you 
allow  that  I  have  a  right  to  recollect  such  an 
obligation.  Good-by,  my  boy,"  said  Sir 
Thomas.  "  Seven  to-morrow — but  I'll  prob- 
ably be  at  your  college  and  see  you  in  the 
morning.  And  mind  you  bring  the  tutor," 
he  cried,  as  the  carriage  drove  off.  Lady 
Frankland  shed  a  perfect  blaze  of  smiles  upon 
Colin,  as  she  waved  her  hand  to  him,  and  the 
creature  with  the  curls  on  the  other  side  gave 
the  boy  a  little  nod  in  a  friendly,  condescend- 
ing way.  He  made  a  spring  back  into  the 
shade  the  minute  after,  wonderfully  glad  to 
escape,  but  dazzled  and  excited  in  spite  of 
himself;  and,  as  he  retired  rapidly  from  the 
scene  of  this  unexpected  encounter,  he  came 
sharp  up  against  Laudcrdalej  who  was  com- 
ing to  meet  him,  with  his  curiosity  largely 
excited. 

"  It  was  me  he  took  for  the  tutor,  I  sup- 
pose?" said  the  strange  mentor  who  had  thus 
taken  possession  of  Colin ;  and  the  tall  stu- 
dent laughed  with  a  kind  of  quaint  gratifica- 
tion. "  And  so  I  might  have  been  if  I  had 
been  bred  up  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge,"  he 
added,  after  a  moment ;  "  that  is  to  say,  if 
it  had  been  my  lot  to  have  been  bred  up  any- 
where ;  but  they've  a  grand  system  in  these 
English  universities.  That  was  not  the 
duke?"  he  said  interrogatively,  looking  at 
Colin,  whose  blood  of  clansman  boiled  at  the 
idea. 


A     SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


"  That  the  duke  !  '  esclaimcd  the  boy  with 
great  disdain  ;  "  no  more  than  I  am.  It's  one 
of  the  English  that  arc  aye  coming  and  mail- 
ing their  jokes  about  the  rain  ;  as  if  anybody 
Avanted  them  to  come,"  said  Colin,  with  an 
outbreak  of  scorn  ;  and  then  the  boy  remem- 
bered that  Archie  Candlish  had  just  bought 
a  house  in  expectation  of  such  -visitors,  and 
stopped  abruptly  in  full  career.  "  I  suppose 
the  English  are  awfu'  fond  of  grouse,  or  they 
wouldua'  come  so  far  for  two  or  three  birds," 
he  continued,  in  a  tone  of  milder  sarcasm. 
But  his  companion  was  not  to  be  so  easily  di- 
verted from  his  questions. 

"  Grouse  is  a  grand  institution,  and  helps 
in  the  good  government  of  this  country,"  said 
Lauderdale,  "and,  through  this  country,  of 
the  world — which  is  a  fine  thought  for  a  bit 
winged  creature,  if  it  had  the  sense  to  ken. 
Yen's  another  world,"  he  said,  after  a  little 
pause,  "no  Paradise  to  be  sure,  but  some- 
thing as  far  removed  from  this  as  heaven  it- 
self; farther,  you  might  say,  for  there's 
many  a  poor  man  down  below  here  that's 
hovering  on  the  edge  of  heaven.  And  how 
came  you  to  have  sucl!  grand  friends?" 
asked  the  self-constituted  guardian,  stooping 
from  his  lofty  height  to  look  straight  into 
Colin's  eyes.  After  a  time  he  extracted  the 
baldest  narrative  that  ever  was  uttered  by  a 
hero  ashamed  of  his  prowess  from  the  half- 
indignant  boy,  and  managed  to  guess  as 
clearly  as  the  wonderful  little  lady  in  the 
carriage  the  nature  of  Colin's  sentiments 
towards  the  young  antagonist  and  rival 
whom  he  had  saved. 

"  I  wouldna  have  let  a  dog  drown,"  said 
the  aggrieved  Colin  ;  "  there  was  nothing  to 
make  a  work  about.  But  you  would  have 
laughed  to  see  •^hat  fellow,  with  his  boots 
like  a  lassie's  and  feared  to  wet  his  feet.  He 
could  swim,  though,"  added  the  boy,  can- 
didly ;  "  and  I  would  like  to  beat  him,"  he 
said,  after  a  moment :  "  I'd  like  to  run  races 
with  him  for  something,  and  win  the  prize 
over  his  head." 

This  was  all  Colin  permitted  himself  to 
sav ;    but  the  vehement  sentiment  thus  re- 


27 

called  to  his  mind  made  him,  for  the  moment, 
less  attentive  to  Lauderdale,  who,  for  his 
part,  was  considerably  moved  by  his  young 
companion's  excitement.  "  I'm  not  going  to 
see  your  fine  friends,"  he  said,  as  he  parted 
from  the  boy  at  the  "  stairfoot  "  which  led 
to  Colin's  lodging  ;  "  but  there's  many  a  true 
word  spoken  in  jest,  and,  my  boy,  you  shall 
not  want  a  tutor,  though  there's  no  such 
thing  in  our  Scotch  colleges." 

When  he  had  said  so  much,  hastily,  as  a 
man  does  who  is  conscious  of  having  shown  a 
little  emotion  in  his  words,  Colin's  new  friend 
went  away,  disappearing  through  the  misty 
night,  gaunt  and  lean  as  another  Quixote. 
"  I  should  like  to  have  something  to  do  with 
the  making  of  a  new  life,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, muttering  high  up  in  the  air  over  the 
ordinary  passengers'  heads,  as  he  mused  on 
upon  his  way.  And  Colin  and  his  story  had 
struck  the  rock  in  the  heart  of  the  lonely 
man,  and  drawn  forth  fresh  streams  in  that 
wilderness.  He  was  more  moved  in  his  im- 
aginative, reflective  soul,  than  he  could  have 
told  any  one,  with,  half-consciously  to  him- 
self, a  sense  of  contrast,  which  was  natural 
enough,  considering  all  things,  and  which 
colored  all  his  thoughts,  more  or  less,  for 
that  night. 

As  for  Colin — naturally,  too — he  thought 
no  more  of  Lauderdale,  nor  of  his  parting 
words,  and  found  himself  in  no  need  of  any 
tutor  or  guide,  but  fell  asleep  in  the  midst 
of  his  Greek,  as  was  to  be  expected,  and 
dreamt  of  that  creature  with  the  curls  nod- 
ding at  him  out  of  gorgeous  lord  mayor's 
coaches,  in  endless  procession.  And  it  was 
with  this  wonderful  little  vision  dancing 
about  his  fancy  that  the  Scotch  boy  ended 
his  fii'st  day  at  the  university,  knowing  no 
more  what  was  to  come  of  it  all  than  the 
saucy  sparrow  which  woke  him  next  morn- 
ing by  loud  chirping  in  the  Glasgow  dialect 
at  his  quaint  little  attic  window.  The  spar- 
row had  his  crumbs,  and  Colin  had  another 
exciting  day  before  him,  and  went  out  quite 
calmly  to  lay  his  innocent  hands  upon  the 
edge-tools  which  were  to  carve  out  his  life. 


28 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


PART    III. — CHAPTER    VII. 

WoxDERS  come  natural  at  fifteen ;  the 
farmer's  son  of  Ramore,  though  a  little  daz- 
zled at  the  moment,  was  by  no  means  thrown 
off  his  balance  by  the  flattering  attentions  of 
Lady  Frankland,  who  said  evci-y thing  tliat 
was  agreeable  and  forgot  that  she  had  said  it, 
and  went  over  the  same  ground  again  half  a 
dozen  times,  somewhat  to  the  contempt  of 
Colin,  who  knew  nothing  about  fine  ladies, 
but  had  all  a  boy's  disdain  for  a  silly  woman. 
Thanks  to  his  faculty  of  silence,  and  his  in- 
tei3se  pride,  Colin  conducted  himself  with 
great  external  propriety  when  he  dined  with 
his  new  friends.  Nobody  knew  the  fright  he 
■was  in,  nor  the  strain  of  determination  not 
to  commit  himself,  which  was  worthy  of  some- 
thing more  important  than  a  dinner.  But 
after  all,  thougli  it  slied  a  reflected  glory 
over  his  path  for  a  short  time.  Sir  Thomas 
Frankland's  dinner  and  all  its  bewildering 
accessories  was  but  an  affair  of  a  day,  and  the 
only  real  result  it  left  behind  was  a  conviction 
in  the  mind  of  Lauderdale  that  his  young 
froterje  was  born  to  better  fortune.  From 
that  day  the  tall  student  hovered,  benignly 
reflective,  like  a  tall  genie  over  Colin's  boyish 
career.  He  was  the  boy's  tutor  so  far  as  that 
was  possible  where  the  teacher  was  himself 
but  one  step  in  advance  of  the  pupil ;  and  as 
to  matters  speculative  and  philosophical,  Lau- 
derdale's monologue,  delivered  high  up  in 
the  air  over  his  head,  became  the  accompani- 
ment and  perpetual  stimulation  of  all  Colin's 
thoughts.  The  training  was  strange,  but  by 
no  means  unnatural,  nor  out  of  harmony 
with  the  habits  of  the  boy's  previous  life,  for 
much  homely  philosophy  was  current  at  Ra- 
more, and  Colin  had  been  used  to  receive  all 
kinds  of  comments  upon  human  affairs  with 
his  daily  bread.  Naturally  enougli,  however, 
the  sentiments  of  thirty  and  those  of  fifteen 
were  not  always  harmonious,  and  the  impar- 
tial and  tolerant  thoughtfulness  of  his  tall 
friend  much  exasperated  Colin  in  the  absolu- 
tism of  his  youth. 

"  I'm  a  man  of  the  age,"  Lauderdale 
would  say,  as  they  traversed  the  crowded 
streets  together  ;  "  by  which  I  am  claiming 
no  superiority  over  you,  callant,  but  far  the 
contrary,  if  you  were  but  wise  enough  to  ken. 
I've  fallen  into  the  groove  like  tiie  rest  of 
mankind,  and  think  in  limits  as  belongs  to 
my  century — which  is  but  a  poor  half-and- 
half  kind  of  century,  to  say  the  best  of  it — 


but  you  are  of  all  the  ages,  and  know  noth- 
ing about  limits  or  possibilities.  Don't  in- 
terrupt me,"  said  the  placid  giant ;  "  you 
are  far  too  talkative  for  a  laddie,  as  I  have 
said  before.  I  tell  you  I'm  a  man  of  the  age  : 
I've  no  very  particular  faith  in  anything. 
In  a  kind  of  a  way,  everything's  true;  but 
you  needna  tell  me  that  a  man  that  believes 
like  thai  will  never  make  much  mark  in  this 
world  or  any  other  world  I  ever  heard  tell  of. 
I  know  that  a  great  deal  better  than  you  do. 
Tiie  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  contradict 
me ;  it's  good  for  you,  and  it  docs  me  no 
harm." 

Colin  acted  upon  this  permission  to  the 
full  extent  of  all  his  youthful  prowess  and 
prejudices,  and  went  on  learning  his  Latin 
and  Greek,  and  discussing  all  manner  of  ques- 
tions in  heaven  and  earth,  with  the  fervor  of 
a  boy  and  a  Scotsman.  They  kept  together, 
this  strange  pair,  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
short  winter  days,  taking  long  walks,  when 
they  left  the  university,  through  the  noisy, 
dirty  streets,  upon  which  Lauderdale  mor- 
alized ;  and  sometimes  through  tlie  duller 
squares  and  crescents  of  respectability  which 
formed  the  frame  of  the  picture.  Sometimes 
their  peregrinations  concluded  in  Colin's  lit- 
tle room,  when  they  renewed  their  arguments 
over  the  oat-cakes  and  cheese  which  came  in 
periodical  hampers  from  Ramore  ;  and  some- 
times Lauderdale  gave  his  froterje  a  cheap 
and  homely  dinner  at  the  tavern  wliere  they 
had  first  broken  bread  together.  But  not  even 
Colin,  much  less  any  of  his  less  fiimiliar  ac- 
quaintances, knew  where  the  tall  mentor 
lived,  or  how  he  managed  to  maintain  himself 
at  college.  lie  said  he  had  his  lodging  pro- 
vided for  him,  when  any  inquiry  was  made,  and 
added,  with  an  odd,  humorous  look,  that  his 
was  an  honorable  occupation  ;  but  Lauderdale 
afforded  no  further  clue  to  his  own  means  or 
dwelling-place.  He  smiled,  but  he  was  se- 
cret and  gave  no  sign.  As  for  his  studies,  he 
made  but  such  moderate  progress  in  them  as 
was  natural  to  his  age  and  his  character. 
No  particular  spur  of  ambition  seemed  to 
stimulate  the  man  whose  habits  were  formed 
by  this  time,  and  wlio  found  enjoyment  enougli , 
it  appeared,  in  universal  speculation.  When 
he  failed,  his  reflections  as  to  the  effect  of 
failure  upon  the  mind  of  man,  and  the  secon- 
dary importance  afior  all  of  mere  material 
success,  "  which  always  turns  out  more  dis- 
appointing to  a  reflective  spirit  than  an  actual 


A    SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 


29 


break-down,"  the  philosopher  would  say, "  be- 
ing aye  another  evidence  how  far  reality 
falls  short  of  the  idea,"  became  more  piquant 
than  usual ;  and  when  he  succeeded,  the 
same  sentiments  moderated  his  satisfaction. 
"  Oh  ay,  I've  got  the  prize,"  he  said,  holding 
it  on  a  level  with  Colin's  head,  and  regarding 
its  resplendent  binding  with  a  smile  ;  ' '  which 
is  to  say,  I've  found  out  that  it's  only  a  book 
with  the  college  arms  stamped  upon  it,  and 
no  a  palpable  satisfaction  to  the  soul  as  I 
might  have  imagined  it  to  be,  had  it  been 
yours,  boy,  instead  of  mine." 

But  with  all  this  composure  of  feeling  as 
respected  his  own  success,  Lauderdale  was  as 
eager  as  a  boy  about  the  progress  of  his  pu- 
pil. When  the  prize  lay  in  Colin's  way,  his 
friend  spared  no  pains  to  stimulate  and  en- 
courage and  help  him  on ;  and  as  years 
passed,  and  the  personal  pride  of  the  elder 
became  involved  in  the  success  of  the  younger, 
Lauderdale's  anxieties  awoke  a  certain  impa- 
tience in  the  bosom  of  his  proterje.  Colin  was 
ambitious  enough  in  his  own  person ;  but  he 
turned  naturally  with  sensitive  boyish  pride 
against  the  arguments  and  inducements  which 
had  so  little  influence  upon  the  speaker  him- 
self. 

"  You  urge  Tne  on,"  said  the  country  lad; 
"  but  you  think  it  docs  not  matter  for  your- 
self." And  though  it  was  Colin's  third  ses- 
sion, and  he  reckoned  himself  a  man,  he  was 
jealous  to  think  that  Laudei'dale  urged  upon 
him  what  he  did  not  think  it  worth  his  while 
to  practise  in  his  own  person. 

"  When  a  thing's  spoilt  in  the  making,  it 
matters  less  what  use  ye  put  it  to,"  said  the 
philosopher.  It  was  a  bright  day  in  March, 
and  they  were  seated  on  the  grass  together 
in  a  corner  of  the  green,  looking  at  the  pretty 
groups  about,  of  women  and  children — chil- 
dren and  women,  perhaps  not  over-tidy,  if 
you  looked  closely  into  the  matter,  but  pic- 
turesque to  look  at — some  watching  the 
patches  of  white  linen  bleaching  on  the 
grass,  some  busily  engaged  over  their  needle- 
work, and  all  of  them  occupied  : — it  was 
comfortable  to  think  they  could  escape  from 
the  dingy  ' '  closes  ' '  and  unsavory  ' '  lands ' ' 
of  the  neighborhood.  The  tall  student 
stretched  his  long  limbs  on  the  grass,  and 
watched  the  people  about  with  reflective 
eyes.  "  There's  nothing  in  this  world  so  im- 
portant to  a  man  as  a  right  beginning,"  he 
went  on.     "  As  for  me,  I'm  all  astray,  and 


can  never  win  to  any  certain  end — no  that 
I'm  complaining,  or  taking  a  gloomy  view  of 
things  in  general ;  I'm  just  as  happy  in  my 
way  as  other  folk  are  in  theirs — but  that's 
no  the  question  under  discussion.  When  a 
man  reaches  my  years  without  coming  to 
anything,  he'll  never  come  to  much  all  his 
days  ;  but  you're  only  a  callant,  and  have  all 
the  world  before  you,"  said  Lauderdale.  He 
did  not  look  at  Colin  as  he  spoke,  but  went 
on  in  his  usual  monotone,  looking  into  the 
blue  air,  in  which  he  saw  much  that  was  not 
visible  to  the  eager  young  eyes  which  kept 
gazing  at  him.  "When  I  was  like  you,"  he 
continued,  with  a  half-jmthetic,  half-humor- 
ous smile,  "  it  looked  like  misery  and  despair 
to  feel  that  I  was  not  to  get  my  own  way  in 
this  world.  I'm  terribly  indifferent  now-a- 
days — one  kind  of  life  is  just  as  good  as  an- 
other as  long  as  a  man  has  something  to  do 
that  he  can  think  to  be  his  duty  ;  but  such 
feelings  are  no  for  you,"  said  Colin's  tutor, 
waking  up  suddenly.  "  For  you,  laddie, 
there's  nothing  grand  in  the  world  that 
should  not  be  possible.  The  lot  that's  ac- 
complished is  aye  more  or  less  a  failure  ;  but 
there's  always  something  splendid  in  the  life 
that  is  to  come." 

' '  You  talk  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  child !  "  said 
Colin,  with  a  little  indignation;  "you  see 
things  in  their  true  light  yourself;  but  you 
treat  me  like  a  baby.  What  can  there  be  that 
is  splendid  in  my  life? — a  farmer's  son,  with 
perhaps  the  chance  of  a  country  church  for 
my  highest  hope — after  all  kinds  of  signings 
and  confessions  and  calls  and  presbyteries. 
It  would  be  splendid,  indeed,"  said  the  lad, 
with  boyish  contempt,  "  to  be  plucked  by  a 
country  presbytery  that  don't  know  six  words 
of  Greek,  or  objected  to  by  a  congregation  of 
ploughmen.  That's  all  a  man  has  to  look  for 
in  the  Church  of  Scotland,  and  you  know  it, 
Lauderdale,  as  well  as  I  do." 

Colin  broke  off  suddenly,  with  a  great  deal 
of  heat  and  impatience.  He  was  eighteen, 
and  he  was  of  the  advanced  party,  the  Young 
Scotland  of  his  time.  The  dogmatic  Old 
Scotland,  which  loved  to  bind  and  limit, 
and  make  confessions  and  sign  the  same,  be- 
longed to  the  past  centuries.  As  for  Colin's 
set,  they  were  "  viewy  "  as  the  young  men 
at  Oxford  used  to  be  in  the  c^ys  of  Froude 
and  Newman.  Colin's  own  "  views  "  were 
of  a  vague  description  enough,  but  of  the 
most  revolutionary  tendency.     He  did  not 


30  A    SON    OF 

believe  in  Presbjtery,  not  in  that  rule  of 
Church  government  which  in  Scotland  is 
known  as  Lord  Aberdeen's  Act ;  and  his 
ideas  respecting  extempore  worship  and  com- 
mon prayers  were  much  unsettled.  But  as 
neither  Colin  nor  his  set  had  any  distinct 
model  to  fall  back  upon,  nor  any  clear  per- 
ception of  what  they  wanted,  the  present  re- 
sult of  their  enlightenment  was  simply  the 
unpleasant  one  of  general  discontent  with  ex- 
isting things,  and  a  restless  contempt  for  the 
necessary  accessories  of  their  lot. 

"  '  Plucked  '  is  no  a  word  in  use  in  Scot- 
land," said  Lauderdale  ;  "  it  smacks  of  the 
English  universities,  which  are  altogether  a 
different  matter.  As  for  the  Westminster 
Confession,  I'm  no  clear  that  I  could  put  my 
name  to  that  myself  as  my  act  and  deed — but 
you  are  but  a  callant,  and  don't  know  your 
own  mind  as  yet.  IMeaning  no  offence  to 
you,"  he  continued,,  waving  his  hand  to 
Colin,  who  showed  signs  of  impatience,  "I 
was  once  a  laddie  myself.  Between  eigh- 
teen and  eight-and-twenty  you'll  change  your 
ways  of  thinking,  and  neither  you  nor  me 
can  prophesy  what  they'll  end  in.  As  for 
the  congregation  of  ploughmon,  I  would  be 
very  easy  about  you  if  that  was  the  worst 
danger.  Men  that  are  about  day  and  night 
in  the  fields  when  all's  still,  cannot  but  have 
thoughts  in  their  minds  now  and  then.  But 
it's  no  what  jou  arc  going  to  be,  I'm  think- 
ing of,"  said  Colin's  counsellor,  raising  him- 
self from  the  grass  with  a  spark  of  unusual 
light  in  his  eyes,  "  but  what  you  mifjht  be, 
laddie.  It's  no  a  great  preacher,  far  less 
what  they  call  a  popular  minister,  that  would 
please  me.  What  I'm  thinking  of  is,  the 
]\Ian  that  is  aye  to  be  looked  for,  but  never 
comes.  I'm  speaking  like  a  woman,  and 
thinking  like  a  woman,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile ;  "  they  have  a  kind  of  privilege  to 
keep  their  ideal.  For  my  part,  I  ought  to 
have  more  sense,  if  experience  counted  for 
anything ;  but  I've  no  faith  in  experience. 
And,  speaking  of  that,"  said  the  philosopher, 
dropping  back  again  softly  on  the  greensward, 
"  w-hat  a  grand  outlet  for  what  I'm  calling 
the  ideal  was  .that  old  promise  of  the  jMessiah 
who  was  to  come !  It  may  still  be  so  for 
anything  I  can  tell,  thougli  I  cannot  say  that 
I  put  mucli  trust  in  the  Jews.  But  aye  to 
be  able  to  hope  that  tlic  next  new  soul  might 
be  tho  one  that  was  above  failure  must  have 
been  a  wonderful  solace  to  thoce  that  had 


THE    SOIL. 

failed  and  lost  heart.  To  be  sure,  they 
missed  him  when  he  caiAe,"  continued  Lau- 
derdale j  "that  was  natural.  Human  nat- 
ure is  aye  defective  in  action ;  but  a  grand 
idea'  like  that  makes  all  the  difference  be- 
tween us  and  the  beasts,  and  Avould  do,  if 
there  were  a  liundred  theories  of  develop- 
ment, which  I  would  not  have  you  put  faith 
in,  laddie,"  continued  the  volunteer  tutor. 
"  Steam  and  iron  make  awful  progress,  but 
no  man — " 

"That  is  one  of  your  favorite  theories," 
said  Colin,  who  was  ready  for  any  amount 
of  argument ;  "  though  iron  and  steam  are 
dead  and  stationary,  but  for  the  Mind  which 
is  always  developing.  What  you  say  is  a 
kind  of  paradox ;  but  you  like  paradoses, 
Lauderdale." 

"  Everything's  a  paradox,"  said  the  reflec- 
tive giant,  getting  up  slowly  fx"om  the  turf. 
"  The  grass  is  damp,  and  the  wind's  cold, 
and  I  don't  mean  to  sit  here  and  haver  non- 
sense any  longer.  Come  along,  and  I'll 
see  you  home.  What  I  like  women  for  is, 
that  they're  seldom  subject  to  the  real,  or 
convinced  by  what  you  callants  call  reason. 
Reason  and  reality  are  terrible  fictions  at  the 
bottom.  I  more  believe  in  facts,  for  my 
part.  The  worst  of  it  is,  that  a  woman's 
ideal  is  apt  to  look  a  terrible  idiot  when  she 
sets  it  up  before  the  world,"  continued  Lau- 
derdale, his  face  brightening  gradually  with 
one  of  his  slow  smiles.  "  The  ladies'  novels 
are  instructive  on  that  point.  But  there's 
few  things  in  this  world  so  pleasant  as  to 
have  a  woman  at  hand  that  believes  in  you," 
he  said,  suddenly  breaking  off  in  his  dis- 
course at  an  utterly  unexpected  moment. 
Colin  was  startled  by  the  unlooked-for  si- 
lence, and  by  the  sound  of  something  like  a 
sigh  which  disturbed  the  air  over  his  head, 
and  being  still  but  a  boy,  and  not  superior  to 
mischief,  looked  up,  with  a  little  laughter. 

"  You  must  have  once  had  a  woman  who 
believed  in  you,  or  you  would  not  speak  so 
feelingly,"  said  the  lad,  in  his  youthful 
amusement;  and  then  Colin,  too,  stopped 
short,  having  encountered  quite  an  unaccus- 
tomed look  in  his  companion's  face. 

"Ay,"  said  Lauderdale,  and  then  there 
was  a  pause.  "  If  it  were  not  that  life  is 
aj^e  a  failure,  there  would  be  some  cases 
harder  than  could  be  borne,*'  he  continued, 
after  a  moment;  "  no  that  I'm  complaining  ; 
but  if  I  were  you,  laddie,  I  would  set  my 


A    SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 


face  dead  against  fortune,  and  make  up  my 
mind  to  win.  x\nd  speaking  of  winning, 
when  did  you  hear  of  your  grand  English 
fiiends,  and  the  callant  you  picked  out  of  the 
loch  ?  Have  they  ever  been  here  in  Glasgow 
again?  " 

At  which  question  Colin  drew  himself  to 
his  full  height,  as  he  always  did  at  Harry 
Frankland's  name  ;  he  was  ashamed  now  to 
express  his  natural  antagonism  to  the  English 
lad  in  frank  speech  as  he  had  been  used  to  do, 
but  he  insensibly  elevated  his  head,  which, 
when  he  did  not  stoop,  as  he  had  a  habit  of 
doing,  began  to  approach  much  more  nearly 
than  of  old  to  the  altitude  of  his  friend's. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  their  movements," 
he  said,  shortly.  "  As  for  winning,  I  don't 
sec  what  connection  there  can  be  between  the 
Franklands  and  any  victory  of  mine.  You 
don't  suppose  Bliss  Matilda  believes  in  me, 
do  you  ?  "  said  Colin,  with  an  uneasy  laugh  ; 
"  for  that  would  be  a  mistake,"  He  contin- 
ued, a  moment  after.  "  She  believes  in  her 
cousin." 

"  Blaybe,"  said  Lauderdale,  in  his  oracular 
way,  "  it's  an  uncanny  kind  of  relationship 
v.pon  the  whole  ;  but  I  would  not  be  the  one 
to  answer  for  it,  especially  if  it's  him  she's 
expected  to  believe  in.  But  there  were  no 
ilios  Matildas  in  my  mind,"  he  added,  with 
a  smile.  "  I'll  no  ask  what  she  had  to  do  in 
yours,  for  you're  but  a  callant,  as  I  have  to 
remind  you  twenty  times  in  a  day.  J3ut  such 
lodgers  are  no  to  be  encouraged,"  said  Colin's 
adviser,  with  seriousness;  "when  they  get 
into  a  young  head  it's  hard  to  get  them  out 
igain ;  and  the  worst  of  them  is,  that  they 
take  more  room  than  their  fair  share.  '  Have 
you  got  your  essay  well  in  hand  for  the  pi-in- 
cipal  ?  That's  more  to  the  purpose  than  Miss 
Matilda ;  and  now  the  end  of  the  session's 
drawing  near,  and  I'm  a  thought  anxious 
about  the  philosophy  class.  Yon  Highland 
colt  with  the  red  hair  will  run  you  close,  if 
you  don't  take  heed.  It's  no  prizes  I'm 
thinking  upon,"  said  Lauderdale  ;  "  it's  the 
whole  plan  of  the  campaign.  I'll  come  up 
and  talk  it  all  over  again,  if  you  want  advice  ; 
but  I've  great  confidence  in  your  own  genius." 
As  he  said  this,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
lad's  shoulder,  and  looked  down  into  his  eyes. 
'••  Summer's  the  time  to  dream,"  said  the  tall 
ftudent,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh.  Perhaps 
he  had  given  undue  importance  to  the  name 
uf  Miss  Matilda.     He  looked  into  the  fresh 


31 

young  face  with  that  mixture  of  affection  and 
pathos — ambition  for  the  lad,  mingled  with 
a  generous,  tender  envy  of  him — which  all 
along  had  moved  the  elder  man  in  his  inter- 
course with  Colin.  The  look  for  once  pen- 
etrated through  the  mists  of  custom  and 
touched  the  boy's  heart. 

"You  are  very  good  to  me,  Lauderdale," 
he  said,  with  a  little  effusion  ;  at  the  sound 
of  which  words  his  friend  grasped  his  shoul- 
der affectionately  and  went  off,  without  say- 
ing anything  more,  into  the  dingy  Glasgow 
streets.  Colin  himself  paused  a  minute  to 
watch  the  tall,  retreating  figure  before  he 
climbed  his  own  tedious  stair.  "  Summer's 
the  time  to  dream,"  he  repeated  to  himself, 
with  a  certain  brightness  in  his  face,  and 
went  up  the  darkling  staircase  three  steps  at 
a  time,  stimulated  most  probably  by  some 
thoughts  more  exciting  than  anything  con- 
nected with  college  prizes  or  essays.  It  was 
the  end  of  Jilarch,  and  already  now  and  then 
a  chance  breeze  whispered  to  Colin  that  the 
primroses  had  begun  to  peep  out  about  the 
roots  of  the  trees  in  all  the  soft  glens  of  the 
Holy  Loch.  It  had  only  been  in  the  previous 
spring  that  primroses  became  anything  more 
to  Colin  than  they  were  to  Peter  Bell ;  but 
now  the  youth's  eyes  were  anointed,  he  had 
begun  to  write  poetry,  and  to  taste  the  de- 
lights of  life.  Though  he  had  already  learned 
to  turn  his  verses  with  the  conscious  decep- 
tion of  a  Moore,  it  did  not  occur  to  Colin  as 
possible  that  the  life  which  was  so  sweet  one 
year  might  not  be  equally  delightful  the  next, 
or  that  anything  could  occur  to  deprive  him 
of  the  companionship  he  was  looking  forward 
to.  He  had  never  received  any  shock  yet  in 
his  jouthful  certainty  of  ple&sure,  and  did 
not  stop  to,  think  that  the  chance  which 
brought  Sir  Thomas  Frankland's  nursery,  and 
with  it  his  pretty  miss,  to  the  Castle,  for  all 
the  long  spring  and  summer,  might  never  re- 
cur again.  So  he  went  up-stairs  three  steps 
at  a  time,  in  the  dingy  twilight,  and  sat  down 
to  his  essay,  raising  now  and  then  trium- 
phant, youthful  eyes,  which  surveyed  the 
mean  walls  and  poor  little  room  without  see- 
ing anything  of  the  poverty,  and  making  all 
his  young,  arrogant,  absolute  philosophy 
sweet  with  thoughts  of  the  primroses,  and 
the  awaking  waters,  and  the  other  human 
creature,  the  child  Eve  of  the  boy's  Paradise. 
This  was  how  Colin  managed  to  compose  the 
essay,  which  drew  tears  of  mingled  laughter 


Oli  A    SON    OF 

imd  emotion  from  Lauderdale's  oj-cs,  and 
dazzled  the  professor  himself  Avith  its  promise 
of  eloquence,  and  secured  the  prize  in  the 
philosophy  class.  The  Highland  colt  with 
the  red  hair,  who  was  Colin's  rival,  was  very 
much  sounder  in  his  views,  and  had  twenty 
times  more  logic  in  his  composition  ;  but  the 
professor  was  dazzled,  and  the  class  itself 
could  scarcely  forbear  its  applause.  Colin 
went  home  accordingly  covered  with  glory. 
He  Avas  nearly  nineteen  ;  he  was  one  of  the 
most  promising  students  of  the  year  ;  he  had 
already  distinguished  himself  sufficiently  to 
attract  the  attention  of  people  interested  in 
college  successes ;  and  he  had  all  the  long 
summer  before  him,  and  no  one  could  tell 
how  many  rambles  about  the  glens,  how 
many  voyages  across  the  loch,  how  many  re- 
searches into  the  wonders  of  the  hills.  He 
bade  farewell  to  Lauderdale  Avith  a  momen- 
tary seriousness,  but  forgot  before  the  smoke 
of  Glasgow  was  out  of  sight  that  he  had  ever 
parted  from  anybody,  or  that  all  his  friends 
were  not  awaiting  him  in  this  summer  of  de- 
light. 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

"Come  away  into  the  fire;  it's  bonnie 
weather,  but  it's  sharp  on  the  hillside,"  said 
the  mistress  of  Ramore.  "  I  never  wearied 
for  you,  Colin,  so  much  as  I've  done  this 
year.  No  that  there  Avas  ony  particular  oc- 
casion, for  we've  a'  been  real  Avecl,  and  a  good 
season,  and  baith  bairns  and  beasts  keeping 
their  health ;  but  the  heart's  awfu'  capri- 
cious, and  canna  hear  reason.  Come  in  bye 
to  the  fire." 

"There's  been  three  days  of  east  wind," 
said  the  farmer,  who  had  gone  across  the  loch 
to  meet  his  son,  and  bring  him  home  in  tri- 
umph, "  which  accounts  for  your  mother's 
anxiety,  Colin.  When  there's  plenty  of  blue 
sky,  and  the  sun  shining,  there's  naething 
she  hasna  courage  for.  What's  doing  in 
Glasgow  ?  or  rather  what's  doing  at  the  col- 
lege? or,  maybe,  if  you  insist  upon  it,  what 
are  you  doing  ?  for  that's  the  most  important 
to  us." 

To  which  Colin,  who  Avas  almost  as  shy  of 
talking  of  his  own  achievements  as  of  old, 
gave  for  answer  some  bald  account  of  the 
winding  up  of  the  session  and  of  his  OAvn 
honors.  "  I  told  you  all  about  it  in  my  last 
letter,"  he  said,  hurrying  over  the  narrative 
'  there  Avas  nothing  out  of  the  common 
Tell  me  rather  all  the  news  of  the  parisli — 


THE     SOIL. 

Avho  is  at  home  and  who  Is  away,  and  if  any 
of  the  visitors  have  come  yet?  "  said  the  lad, 
with  a  conscious  tremor  in  his  voice.  Most 
likely  his  mother  understood  what  he  meant. 

"  It's  ower  early  for  visitors  yet,"  she 
said,  "  though  I  think  for  my  part  there's 
nothing  like  the  spring,  Avith  the  days  length- 
ening, and  the  light  aye  eking  and  eking  it- 
self odt.  To  be  sure,  there's  the  east  Avindg, 
which  is  a  sore  drawback,  but  it  has  nae  great 
efiect  on  the  Avest  coast.  The  castle  woods 
are  Avonderful  bonnie,  Colin  :  near  as  bonnie 
as  they  AA-ere  last  year,  when  a'  those  bright 
English  bairnies  made  the  place  look  cheer- 
ful. lAvonder  the  earl  bides  there  so  seldom 
himself.  He's  no  rich,  to  be  sure,  but  it's  a 
moderate  kind  of  a  place.  If  I  had  enough 
money  I  would  rather  live  there  than  in  the 
queen's  parlor,  and  so  the  minister  says. 
You'll  have  to  go  down  to  the  manse  the 
morn,  and  tell  them  a'  about  your  prizes, 
Colin,"  said  his  proud  mother,  looking  at 
him  with  beaming  eyes.  She  put  her  head 
upon  her  boy's  shoulder,  and  patted  liim 
softly  as  he  stood  beside  her.  "  He  takes  a 
great  interest  in  what  you're  doing  at  the 
college,"  she  continued  ;  "  he  says  you're  a 
credit  to  the  parish,  and  so  I  hope  you'll  aye 
be,"  said  Mrs.  Campbell.  She  had  not  any 
doubt  on  the  subject  so  far  as  lier  own  con- 
victions went. 

"  He  does  not  know  me,"  said  the  impa- 
tient Colin  ;  "  but  I'll  go  to  the  manse  to- 
morrow if  you  like.  It's  half-way  to  the 
castle,"  he  said,  under  his  breath,  and  then 
felt  himself  color,  much  to  his  annoyance, 
under  his  mother's  eyes. 

"  There's  plenty  folk  to  visit,"  said  the 
farmer.  "  As  for  the  castle,  it's  out  of  our 
way,  no  to  say  it  looked  awfu'  doleful  the  last 
time  I  was  by.  Tlie  pastor  would  get  it  but 
for  the  name  of  the  thing.  We've  had  a 
wonderful  year,  take  it  a'  thegither,  and  the 
weather  is  promising  for  this  season.  If 
you're  no  over-grand  with  all  your  honors,  I 
would  be  glad  of  your  advice,  as  soon  as 
you've  rested,  about  the  Easter  fields.  I'm 
thinking  of  some  changes,  and  there's  nac 
time  to  lose." 

"  If  you  would  but  let  the  laddie  take 
breath  !  "  said  the  farmer's  wife.  *'  New  out 
of  all  his  toils  and  his  troubles,  and  you  can- 
na refrain  from  the  Easter  fields.  It's  my 
belief,"  said  the  mistress,  with  a  little  sol- 
emnity, "  that  prosperity  is  awfu'  trying  to 


A    SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 


the  soul.  I  dinna  think  you  ever  cared  for 
piller,  Colin,  till  now  ;  but  instead  of  rqioic- 
ing  in  your  heart  over  the  Almighty's  bless- 
ing, I  hear  nothing,  from  morning  to  night, 
but  about  mair  profit.  It's  no  what  I've  been 
used  to,"  said  Colin's  mother,  "  and  there's 
mony  a  thing  mair  important  that  I  want  to 
hear  about.  Eh  !  Colin,  it's  my  hope  you'll 
no  get  to  be  over-fond  of  this  world  !  " 

"  If  this  world  meant  no  more  than  a  fifty 
pound  or  so  in  the  bank,"  said  big  Colin, 
with  a  smile  ;  "  but  there's  no  denying  it's  a 
wonderful  comfort  to  have  a  bit  margin,  and 
no  be  aye  from  hand  to  mouth.  As  soon  as 
your  mother's  satisfied  with  looking  at  you, 
you  can  come  out  to  me,  Colin,  and  have  a 
look  at  the  beasts.  It's  a  pleasure  to  see 
them.  Apart  from  profit,  Jeanie,"  said  the 
farmer,  with  his  humorous  look,  "  if  you  ob- 
ject to  that,  it's  grand  to  see  such  an  improve- 
ment in  a  breed  of  living  creatures  that  you 
and  me  spend  so  much  of  our  time  among. 
Next  to  bonnie  bairns,  bonnie  cattle's  a  rea- 
sonable pride  for  a  farmer,  no  to  say  but  that 
making  siller  in  any  honest  way  is  as  laud- 
al)le  an  occupation  as  I  ken  of  for  a  man  with 
a  family  like  me." 

"  If  it  doesna  take  up  your  heart,"  said  the 
mistress.  "  But  it's  awfu'  to  hear  folk  how 
they  crave  siller  for  siller's  sake ;  especially 
in  a  place  like  this,  where  there's  aye  stran- 
gers coming  and  going,  and  a'  body's  aye 
trying  how  much  is  to  be  got  for  everything. 
I  promised  the  laddies  a  holiday  the  morn  to 
hear  a'  Colin's  news,  and  you're  no  to  take 
him  off  to  byres  and  ploughed  land  the  very 
first  day,  though  I  dinna  say  but  I  would  like 
him  to  see  Gowan's  calf,"  said  the  farmer's 
wife,  yielding  a  little  in  her  superior  virtue. 
As  for  Colin,  he  sat  very  impatiently  through 
this  conversation,  vainly  attempting  to  bring 
in  the  question  which  he  longed,  yet  did  not 
like,  to  ask. 

"  I  suppose  the  visitors  will  come  early,  as 
the  weather  is  so  fine  ?  "  he  ventured  to  say 
as  soon  as  there  was  a  pause. 

"Oh,  ay,  the  Glasgow  folks,"  said  Mrs. 
Campbell ;  and  she  gave  a  curious,  inquiring 
glance  at  her  son,  who  was  looking  out  of 
the  window  with  every  appearance  of  ab- 
straction. "  Do  you  know  anybody  that's 
coming,  Colin?"  said  the  anxious  mother; 
"some  of  your  new  friends?"  And  Colin 
was  so  sensible  of  her  look,  though  his  eyes 
were  turned  in  exactly  the  opposite  direction, 

3 


33 

that  his  face  grew  crimson  up  to  the  great 
waves  of  brown  hair  which  were  always  tum- 
bling about  his  forehead.  He  thrust  his 
heavy  lovelocks  off  his  temples  with  an  im- 
patient hand,  and  got  up  and  went  to  the 
window  that  his  confusion  might  not  be  visi- 
ble. Big  Colin  of  Ramore  was  at  the  window 
too,  darkening  the  apartment  with  his  great 
bulk,  and  the  farmer  laid  his  hand  on  his 
son's  shoulder  with  a  homely  roughness, 
partly  assumed  to  conceal  his  real  feeling. 

"How  tall  are  you,  laddie?  no  much 
short  of  me  now,"  he  said.  "  Look  here, 
Jeanie,  at  your  son."  The  mistress  put 
down  her  work,  and  came  up  to  them,  de- 
feating all  Colin's  attempts  to  escape  her 
look  ;  but  in  the  mean  time  she,  too,  forgot 
the  blushes  of  her  boy  in  the  pleasant  sight 
before  her.  She  was  but  a  little  woman  her- 
self, tjonsidered  in  the  countryside  rather  too 
soft  and  delicate  for  a  farmer's  wife ;  and 
with  all  the  delicious  confidence  of  love  and 
weakness,  the  tender  woman  looked  up  at  her 
husband  and  her  son. 

"Young  Mr.  Frankland's  No  half  so  tall 
as  Colin,"  said  the  proud  mother  ;  "  no  that 
height  is  anything  to  brag  about  unless  a' 
things  else  is  conformable,  lie's  weel 
enough,  and  a  strong-built  callant,  but 
there's  a  great  difference,  though,  to  be 
sure  ;  his  mother  is  just  as  proud,"  said  the 
mistress,  bearing  her  conscious  superiority 
with  meekness  ;  «'  it's  a  grand  thing  that 
we're  a'  best  pleased  with  our  ain." 

"  When  did  you  see  young  Frankland  ?  " 
said  Colin,  hastily.  The  two  boys  had 
scarcely  met  since  the  encounter  which  had 
made  a  link  between  the  families  without 
awaking  very  friendly  sentiments  in  the 
bosoms  of  the  two  persons  principally  con- 
cerned. 

"  That's  a  thing  to  be  discussed  hereafter," 
said  the  farmer  of  Ramore.  "  I  didna  mean 
to  say  onything  about  it  till  I  saw  what  your 
inclinations  were ;  but  women-folk  are  aye 
hasty.  Sir  Thomas  has  made  me  a  proposi- 
tion, Colin.  He  would  like  to  send  you  to 
Oxford  with  his  own  son  if  you  and  me  were 
to  consent.  We're  to  gie  him  an  answer 
when  we've  made  up  our  minds.  Nae  doubt 
he  has  heard  that  you  were  like  enough  to  be 
a  creditable  protejee,"  said  big  Colin,  with 
natural  complacency.  "  A  lad  of  genius  gies 
distinction  to  his  patron,  if  ye  can  put  up 
with  a  patron,  Colin." 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


34 

"  Can  yow?  "  cried  his  son.  The  lad  was 
greatly  agitated  by  the  question.  Amljitious 
Scotch  youths  of  Colin'e  type,  in  tkc  state  of 
discontent  which  was  common  to  the  race, 
had  come  to  look  upon  the  English  universi- 
ties as  the  goal  of  all  possible  hopes.  Not 
that  Colin  would  have  confessed  as  much  had 
his  fate  depended  on  it,  but  such  was  the  fact 
notwithstanding.  Oxford,  to  his  mind,  meant 
any  or  every  possibility  under  heaven,  with- 
out any  limit  to  the  splendor  of  the  hopes 
involved.  A  different  kind  of  flush,  the  glow 
of  eagerness  and  ambition,  came  to  his  face. 
But  joined  with  this  came  a  tumult  of  vague 
but  burning  offence  and  contradiction.  While 
he  recognized  the  glorious  chance  thus  opened 
to  him,  pride  started  up  to  bolt  and  bar  those 
gates  of  hope.  lie  turned  upon  his  father 
with  something  like  anger  in  his  voice,  with 
a  tantalizing  sense  of  all  the  advantages  thus 
flourished  wantonlj',  as  he  thought,  before  his 
eyes.  "  Could  you  put  up  with  a  patron  ?  " 
he  repeated,  looking  almost  fiercely  in  the 
farmer's  face  ;  "  and  if  not,  why  do  you  ask 
me  such  a  question  ?  "  Colin  felt  injured  by 
the  suggestion.  To  be  offered  the  thing  of  all 
others  he  most  desired  in  the  world  by  means 
which  made  it  imjwssible  to  accept  the  offer 
would  have  been  galling  enough  under  any 
circumstances  ;  but  just  now,  at  this  crisis  of 
his  youthful  ambition  and  excitement,  such  a 
tantalizing  glimpse  of  the  possible  and  the 
impossible  was  beyond  bearing.  "  Are  we 
his  dependants  that  he  makes  such  an  offer  to 
me?"  said  the  exasperated  youth;  and  big 
Colin  himself  looked  on  with  a  little  surprise 
at  his  eon's  excitement,  comprehending  only 
partially  what  it  meant. 

"  111  no  say  I'm  fond  of  patronage,"  said 
the  farmer,  slowly  ;  "  neither  in  the  kirk  nor 
out  of  the  kirk.  It's  my  opinion  a  man  does 
aye  best  that  fights  his  own  way  ;  but  there's 
aye  exceptions,  Colin.  I  wouldna  have  you 
make  up  your  mind  in  any  arbitrary  way. 
As  for  Sir  Thomas,  he  has  aye  been  real  civil 
and  friendly — no  one  of  your  condescending 
fine  gentlemen — and  the  eon — " 

"  What  right  have  I  to  any  favor  from  Sir 
Thomas?  "  said  the  impatient  Colin.  "  lie 
is  nothing  to  me.  I  did  no  more  for  young 
Frankland  than  I  would  have  done  for  any 
dog  on  the  hillside,"  he  continued,  with  a 
contemptuous  tone  ;  and  then  his  conscience 
reproved  him.  *'  I  don't  mean  to  say  any- 
thing against  him.    lie  behaved  like  a  man. 


and  saved  himself,"  said  Colin,  with  haught} 
candor.  « '  As  for  all  this  pretence  of  reward- 
ing me,  it  feels  like  an  insult.  I  want  nothing 
at  their  hands." 

"  There's  no  occasion  to  be  violent,"  said 
the  farmer.  "  I  dinna  expect  that  he'll  use 
force  to  make  you  accept  his  offer,  which  is 
weel  meant  and  kind,  whatever  else  it  may 
be.  I  canna  say  I  understand  a'  this  fury  on 
your  part ;  and  there's  no  good  that  I  can  see 
in  deciding  this  very  moment  and  no  other. 
I  would  like  you  to  sleep  upon  it  and  turn  it 
over  in  your  mind.  Such  an  offer  docsna 
come  every  day  to  the  Holy  Loch.  I'm  no 
the  man  to  seek  help,"  said  big  Colin,  "  but 
there's  times  when  it's  more  generous  to  re- 
ceive than  to  give." 

The  mistress  had  followed  her  son  wistfully 
with  her  eyes  through  all  his  changes  of  coun- 
tenance and  gesture.  She  was  not  simply  sur- 
prised like  her  husband,  but  looked  at  him 
with  unconscious  insight, discovering  by  intui- 
tion what  was  in  his  breast — something,  at 
least,  of  what  was  in  his  heart — for  the  anx- 
ious mother  was  mistaken,  and  rushed  at  con- 
clusions which  Colin  himself  was  far  from 
having  reached. 

"  There's  plenty  of  time  to  decide,"  said 
the  farmer's  wife  ;  "  and  I've  that  confidence 
in  my  laddie  that  I  ken  he'll  do  nothing  from 
a  poor  motive,  nor  out  of  a  jealous  heart. 
There  never  were  ony  sulky  ways,  that  ever 
I  saw,  in  ony  bairn  of  mine,"  said  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell ;  ' '  and  if  there  was  one  in  the  world 
that  was  mair  fortunate  than  me,  I  wouldna 
show  a  poor  spirit  towards  him,  Ijceause  he  ■ 
had  won,  whiles  it's  mair  generous  to  receive 
than  to  give,  as  themaister  says  ;  and  whiles 
it's  mair  noble  to  lose  than  to  win,"  said  the 
mistress,  with  a  momentary  faltering  of  emo- 
tion in  her  voice.  She  thought  the  bitterness 
of  hopeless  love  was  in  her  boy's  heart,  and 
that  he  was  tempted  to  turn  fiercely  from  the 
friendship  of  his  successful  rival.  And  she 
lifted  her  soft  eyes,  which  were  beaming  with 
all  the  magnanimous  impulses  of  nature,  to 
Colin's  face,  who  did  not  comprehend  the  ten- 
derness of  pity  with  which  his  mother  re- 
garded him.  But,  at  least,  he  perceived  that 
something  much  higher  and  profounder  than 
anything  he  was  thinking  of  was  in  the  mis- 
tress's thoughts  ;  and  he  turned  away  some- 
wliat  abashed  from  her  anxious  look. 

"  I  am  not  jealous  that  I  am  aware  of," 
said  Colin  ;  "  but  I  have  never  done  anything 


A     SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


to  deserve  this,  and  I  should  prefer  not  to  ac 
cept  any  favors  from — any  man,"  he  con- 
cluded, abruptly.  That  was  hovf  they  left 
the  discussion  for  that  time  at  least.  When 
the  farmer  went  out  to  look  after  his  neces- 
sary business,  his  wife  remained  with  Colin, 
looking  at  bun  often,  as  she  glanced  up  from 
her  knitting,  with  eyes  of  wistful  wonder. 
Had  she  been  right  in  her  guess,  or  was  it 
merely  a  vague  sentiment  of  repulsion  which 
kept  him  apart  from  young  Frankland  ?  But 
all  the  mother's  anxiety  could  not  break 
through  the  veil  which  separates  one  myste- 
rious individuality  from  another.  She  read 
his  looks  with  eager  attention,  half  right  and 
half  wrong,  as  people  make  out  an  unfamiliar 
language.  He  had  drifted  ofl'  somehow  from 
the  plain  vernacular  of  his  boyish  thoughts, 
and  she  had  not  the  key  to  the  new  compli- 
cations. So  it  was  with  a  mixed  and  doubt- 
ful joy  that  the  mistress  of  Ramore,  on  the 
first  night  of  his  return,  regarded  her  son. 

"  And  1  suppose,"  said  Colin,  with  a  smile 
dancing  about  his  lips,  "  that  I  am  to  answer 
this  proposal  when  they  come  to  the  castle? 
And  they  are  coming  soon  as  they  expected 
last  year  ?  or  perhaps  they  are  there  now  ? ' ' 
he  said,  getting  up  from  his  chair  again  and 
walking  away  towards  the  door  that  his 
mother  might  not  see  the  gleams  of  expecta- 
tion in  his  face. 

"  But,  Colin,  my  man,"  said  the  mistress, 
who  did  not  perceive  the  blow  she  was  about 
to  administer,  "  they're  no  coming  to  the 
castle  this  year.  The  young  lady  that  was 
delicate  has  got  well,  and  they're  a'  in  Lon- 
don and  in  an  awfu'  whirl  o'  gayety  like  the 
rest  of  their  kind  ;  and  Lady  Mary ,  the  earl's 
sister,  is  to  have  the  castle  with  her  bairns  ; 
and  that's  the  way  Sir  Thomas  wants  our  an- 
swer in  a  letter,  for  there's  none  of  the  family 
to  be  here  this  year." 

It  did  not  strike  the  mistress  as  strange 
that  Colin  made  no  answer.  He  was  stand- 
ing at  the  door  looking  out,  and  she  could 
not  see  his  face.  And  when  he  went  out  of 
doors  presently,  she  was  not  surprised ;  it 
was  natural  he  should  want  to  see  everything 
about  the  familiar  place  ;  and  she  called  after 
him  to  say  that,  if  he  would  wait  a  moment, 
she  would  go  herself  and  show  him  Gowan'e 
calf.  But  he  either  did  not  hear  her,  or,  at 
least,  did  not  wait  the  necessary  moment ; 
and  when  she  had  glanced  out  in  her  turn, 
and  had  perceived  with  delight  that  the  wind 


35 

had  changed,  and  that  the  sun  was  going 
down  in  glorious  crimson  and  gold  behind 
the  hills,  the  mistress  returned  with  a  relieved 
heart  to  prepare  the  family  tea.  "  It'll  be  a 
fine  day  to-morrow,"  she  said  to  herself,  re- 
joicing over  it  for  Colin's  sake  ;  and  so  went 
in  to  her  domestic  duties  with  a  lightened 
heart. 

At  that  moment  Colin  had  just  pushed 
forth  into  the  loch,  flinging  himself  into  tiie 
boat  anyhow,  disgusted  with  the  world  and 
himself  and  everything  that  surrounded  him. 
In  a  moment,  in  the  drawing  of  a  breath,  an 
utter  blank  and  darkness  had  replaced  all  the 
lovely  summer  landscape  that  was  glowing  by 
anticipation  in  his  heart.  In  Uie  sadden 
pang  of  disappointment,  the  lad's  first  impulse 
was  to  fling  himself  forth  into  the  solitude, 
and  escape  the  voices  and  looks  which  were 
hateful  to  him  at  that  moment.  Nor  was  it 
simple  disappointment  that  moved  him  ;  his 
feelings  were  complicated  by  many  additional 
shades  of  aggravation.  It  had  seemed  so 
natural  that  everything  should  happen  this 
year  as  last  year,  and  now  it  seemed  such 
blind  folly  to  imagine  that  it  could  have  been 
possible.  Not  only  were  his  dreams  all  frus- 
trated and  turned  to  nothing,  but  he  fell  ever 
so  many  degrees  in  his  .own  esteem  and  felt  so 
foolish  and  vain  and  unkind,  as  he  turned 
upon  himself  with  the  acute  mortification 
and  sudden  disgust  of  youth.  What  an  idiot 
he  had  been!  To  think  she  would  again 
leave  all  the  brilliant  world  for  the  loch  and 
the  primroses,  and  those  other  childish  de- 
lights on  which  he  had  been  dwelling  like  a 
fool! 

Very  bitter  were  Colin's  thoughts,  as  he 
dashed  out  into  the  middle  of  the  loch,  and 
there  laid  up  his  oars  and  abandoned  himself 
to  the  bufietings  of  excited  fancy.  What 
right  had  he  to  imagine  that  she  had  ever 
thought  of  him  again,  or  to  hope  that  such  a 
thread  of  gold  could  be  woven  into  his  rustic 
and  homely  web  of  fate  ?  He  scofied  at  him- 
self, as  he  remembered,  with  acute  pangs  of 
self-contempt,  the  joyous,  rose-colored  dreams 
that  had  occupied  him  only  a  few  hours  ago. 
What  a  fool  he  was  to  entertain  such  vain, 
complacent  fancies !  He,  a  farmer's  son, 
whose  highest  hope  must  be,  after  count- 
less aggravations  and  exasperations,  to  get 
"  placed  "  in  a  country  church  in  some  rural 
corner  of  Scotland.  And  then  Colin  recalled' 
Sir  Thomas  Frankland 's  proposal,  and  took 


36 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


to  his  oars  again  in  a  kind  of  fury,  feeling  it 
impossible  to  keep  still.  The  baronet's  kind 
offer  looked  like  an  intentional  insult  to  the 
excited  lad.  He  thouglit  to  himself  that  they 
wanted  to  reward  him  someliow  by  rude,  tan- 
gible means,  as  if  he  were  a  servant,  for  what 
Colin  proudly  and  indignantly  declared  to 
himself  was  no  service — certainly  no  inten- 
tional service.  On  the  whole,  he  had  never 
been  so  wretched,  so  downcast,  so  fierce  and 
angry  and  miserable  in  all  his  life.  If  he 
could  but,  by  any  means,  by  any  toil,  or  self- 
denial,  or  sacrifice,  get  to  Oxford,  on  his  own 
account,  and  show  the  rich  man  and  his  son 
how  little  tlie  Campbells  of  Eamore  stood  in 
need  of  patronage  !  All  the  glory  had  faded 
off  the  hills  before  Colin  bethought  himself 
of  the  necessity  of  returning  to  the  homely 
house  which  he  had  greeted  with  so  much 
natural  pleasure  a  few  hours  before.  His 
mother  was  standing  at  the  door  looking  out 
for  him  as  he  drew  towards  the  beach,  look- 
ing at  him  with  eyes  full  of  startled  and  anx- 
ious half-comprehension.  She  knew  he  was 
disturbed  somehow,  and  made  guesses,  right 
in  the  main,  but  all  wrong  in  the  particulars, 
which  were,  though  he  tried  hard  to  repress 
all  signs  of  it,  another  exasperation  to  Colin. 
This  was  how:  the  first,  evening  of  his  return 
closed  upon  the  student  of  Ramore.  lie  could 
not  take  any  pleasure  just  then  in  the  fact  of 
being  at  home,  laor  in  the  homely  love  and 
respect  and  admiration  that  surrounded  him. 
Like  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  he  neglected 
the  true  gold  lying  close  at  hand  for  the  long- 
ing he  had  after  the  false  diamonds  that  glit- 
tered at  a  distance.  It  was  hard  woi"k  for 
him  to  preserve  an  ordinary  appearance  of 
affection  and  interest  in  all  that  was  going 
on,  as  he  sat,  absent  and  pre-occupied,  at  his 
father's  table.  "  Colin's  no  like  you  idle  lad- 
dies ;  he  has  ower  much  to  think  of  to  laugh 
and  make  a  noise,  like  you,"  the  mistress 
said  with  dignity,  as  she  consoled  the  younger 
brothers,  who  were  disappointed  in  Colin. 
And  she  half  believed  what  she  said,  though 
she  spoke  with  the  base  intention  of  deluding 
"  the  laddies,"  who  knew  no  better.  The 
house,  on  the  whole,  was  rather  disturbed 
than  brightened  by  the  return  of  the  first- 
born, who  had  thus  become  a  foreign  element 
in  the  household  life.  Such  was  the  inauspi- 
cious beginning  of  the  holidays,  which  had 
been  to  Colin,  for  months  back,  the  subject 
of  80  many  dnjams. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

It  was  some  time  before  Colin  recovered 
his  composure,  or  found  it  possible  to  console 
himself  for  the  failure  of  his  hopes.  He 
wrote  a  great  deal  of  poetry  in  the  mean  time 
— or  rather  of  verses  which  looked  wonder- 
fully like  poetry,  such  as  young  men  of  gen- 
ius are  apt  to  produce  under  such  circum- 
stances. The  chances  are,  that  if  he  had 
confided  them  to  any  critic  of  a  sympathetic 
mind,  attempts  would  have  been  made  to  per- 
suade Colin  that  he^was  a  poet.  But  luckily 
Lauderdale  was  not  at  hand,  and  there  was 
no  one  else  to  whom  the  shy  young  dreamer 
would  have  disclosed  himself.  He  sent  some 
of  his  musings  to  the  magazines,  and  so  added 
a  little  excitement  and  anxiety  to  his  life. 
But  nobody  knei\  Colin  in  that  little  world 
where,  as  in  other  worlds,  most  things  go  by 
favor,  and  impartial  appreciation  is  compar- 
atively unknown.  The  editors  most  probably 
would  have  treated  their  unknown  correspond- 
ent in  exactly  the  same  manner  had  he  been 
a  young  Tennyson.  As  it  was,  Colin  did  not 
quite  know  what  to  think  about  his  repeated 
failures  in  this  respect.  When  he  was  de- 
spondent he  became  disgusted  with  his  own 
productions,  and  said  to  himself  that  of  course 
such  maudlin  verse  could  be  procured  by  the 
bushel,  and  was  not  worthy  of  paper  and 
print.  But  in  other  moods  the  lad  imagined 
he  must  have  some  enemy  who  prejudiced 
the  editorial  world,  and  shut  against  him  the 
gates  of  literary  fame.  In  books  all  the  he- 
roes, who  could  do  nothing  else,  found  so 
ready  a  subsistence  by  means  of  magazines, 
that  the  poor  boy  was  naturally  puzzled  to 
find  that  all  his  efforts  could  not  gain  him  a 
hearing.  And  it  began  to  be  rather  impor- 
tant to  him  to  find  something  to  do.  During 
the  previous  summers  Colin  had  not  disdained 
the  farm  and  its  labors,  but  had  worked  with 
his  father  and  brothers  without  any  sense  of 
incongruity.  But  now  matters  were  changed. 
Miss  Matilda,  with  her  curls  and  her  smiles, 
had  bewitched  the  boy  out  of  his  simple  inno- 
cent life.  It  did  not  seem  natural  that  the 
hand  which  she  consented  to  touch  with  her 
delicate  fingers  should  hold  the  plough  or  the 
reaping-hook,  or  that  her  companion  in  so 
many  celestial  rambles  should  plod  through 
the  furrows  at  other  times,  or  go  into  the 
rough  drolleries  of  the  haiTcst  field.  Colin 
began  to  think  that  the  life  of  a  farmer's  son 
at  Ramore  was  inconsistent  with  his  future 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


hopes,  and  there  was  nothing  else  for  it  but 
teaching,  since  bo  little  was  to  be  made  of 
the  magazines.  When  he  had  come  to  him- 
self and  began  to  see  the  surrounding  circum- 
stances with  clearer  eyes,  Colin,  who  had  no 
mind  to  be  dependent,  but  meant  to  make  his 
own  way  as  was  natural  to  a  Scotch  lad  of 
his  class,  bethought  himself  of  the  most  nat- 
ural expedient.  He  had  distinguished  him- 
self at  college,  and  it  was  not  difficult  to  find 
the  occupation  he  wanted.  Perhaps  he  was 
glad  to  escape  from  the  primitive  home,  from 
the  mother's  penetrating  looks,  and  all  the 
homely  ways  of  which  the  ambitious  boy  b§- 
gan  to  be  a  little  impatient.  He  had  come 
to  the  age  of  discontent.  He  had  begun  to 
look  forward  no  longer  to  the  vague  splendors 
of  boyish  imagination,  but  to  elevation  in  the 
social  scale,  and  what  he  heard  people  call 
success  in  life.  A  year  or  two  before  it  had 
not  occurred  to  Colin  to  consider  the  circum- 
stances of  his  own  lot^his  ambition  pointed 
only  to  ideal  grandeur,  unembarrassed  by 
particulars — and  it  was  very  possible  for  the 
boy  to  be  happy,  thinking  of  some  incoherent 
greatness  to  come,  while  engaged  in  the  hum- 
blest work,  and  living  in  the  homeliest  fash- 
ion. But  the  time  had  arrived  when  the  pure 
ideal  had  to  take  to  itself  some  human  gar- 
ments, and  when  the  farmer's  son  became 
aware  that  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman  re- 
quired a  greater  degree  of  external  refine- 
ment in  his  surroundings.  His  young  heart 
was  wounded  by  this  new  sense,  and  his  vi- 
sionary pride  offended  by  the  thought"  that 
these  external  matters  could  count  for  any- 
thing in  the  dignity  of  a  man.  But  Colin 
had  to  yield  like  every  other.  He  loved  his 
family  no  less,  but  he  was  less  at  home  among 
them.  The  inevitable  disruption  was  com- 
mencing, and  already,  with  the  quick  insight 
of  her  susceptible  nature,  the  mistress  of  Ra- 
more  had  discovered  that  the  new  current  was 
setting  in,  that  the  individual  stream  of  Co- 
lin's  life  was  about  to  disengage  itself,  and 
that  her  proud  hopes  for  her  boy  were  to  be 
sealed  by  his  separation  from  her.  The  ten- 
der-hearted woman  said  nothing  of  it,  except 
by  an  occasional  pathetic  reflection  upon  things 
in  general,  which  went  to  Colin's  heart,  and 
which  he  understood  perfectly ;  but  perhaps, 
though  no  one  would  have  confessed  as  much, 
it  was  a  relief  to  all  when  the  scholar-son,  of 
whom  everybody  at  Ramore  was  so  proud, 
went  off  across  the  loch,  rowed  by  two  of  his 


37 

brothers,  with  his  portmanteau  and  the  first 
evening  coat  he  had  ever  possessed,  to  Ard- 
martin,  the  fine  house  on  the  opposite  bank, 
where  he  was  to  be  tutor  to  Mr.  Jordan's 
boys,  and  eat  among  strangers  the  bread  of 
his  own  toil. 

The  mistress  stood  at  her  door  shading  her 
eyes  with  her  hand,  and  looking  after  the 
boat  as  it  shot  across  the  bright  water. 
Never  at  its  height  of  beauty  had  the  Holy 
Loch  looked  more  fair.  The  sun  wds  ex- 
panding and  exulting  over  all  the  hills, 
searching  into  every  hollow,  throwing  up  un- 
thought-of  tints,  heaps  of  moss,  and  masses 
of  rock,  that  no  one  knew  of  till  that  mo- 
ment ;  and  with  the  sunshine  went  flying 
shadows  that  rose  and  fell  like  the  lifting 
of  an  eyelid.  The  gleam  of  the  sun  before' 
she  put  up  her  hand  to  shade  her  face  fell 
upon  the  tear  in  the  mistress's  eye,  and  hung 
a  rainbow  upon  the  long  lash,  which  was 
wet  with  that  tender  dew.  She  looked  at 
her  boys  gliding  over  the  loch  through  this 
veil  of  fairy  colors,  all  made  out  of  a  tear, 
and  the  heart  in  her  tender  bosom  beat  with 
a  corrcs{)onding  conjunction  of  pain  and  hap- 
piness. "  He'll  never  more  come  back  to 
bide  at  home  like  hia  father's  son,"  she  said 
to  herself,  softly,  with  a  pang  of  natural  mor- 
tification ;  "  but,  eh,  I'm  a  thankless  woman 
to  complain,  and  him  so  weel  and  so  good, 
and  naething  in  faut  but  nature,"  added  the 
mother,  with  all  the  compunction  of  true 
love  ;  and  so  stood  gazing  till  the  boat  had 
gone  out  of  hearing,  and  was  just  touching 
upon  that  sweet  shadow  of  the  opposite  bank, 
projected  far  into  the  loch,  which  plunged 
the  whole  landscape  into  a  dazzling  uncer- 
tainty, and  made  it  a  doubtful  matter  which 
was  land  and  which  was  water.  Colin  him- 
self, touched  by  the  loveliness  of  the  scene, 
had  paused  just  then  to  look  down  the  shin- 
ing line  to  where  this  beatified  paradise  of 
water  opened  out  into  the  heaven  of  Clyde. 
And  to  his  mother's  eyes  gazing  after  him, 
the  boat  seemed  to  hang  suspended  among 
the  sweet  spring  foliage  of  the  Lady's  Glen, 
which  lay  reflected,  every  leaf  and  twig,  in 
the  sweeter  loch.  When  somebody  called 
her  indoors  she  went  away  with  a  sigh.  Was 
it  earth,  or  a  vision  of  paradise,  or  "  some 
unsubstantial  fairy  place"?  The  sense  of 
all  this  loveliness  struck  intense,  with  almost 
a  feeling  of  pain,  upon  the  gentle  woman's 
poetic  heart. 


38 

And  it  was  in  such  a  scene  tliat  Colin 
wrote  the  verses  which  borrowed  from  the 
sun  and  the  rain  prismatic  colors  like  those 
of  hia  mother's  tears,  and  were  as  near  poetry 
as  they  could  possibly  be  to  miss  that  glory. 
Luckily  for  him,  he  had  no  favorite  confidant 
now  to  jxjrsuade  him  that  he  was  a  poet,  so 
the  verse-making  did  him  nothing  but  good, 
providing  a  safety-valve  for  that  somewhat 
stormy  period  of  his  existence. 

Mr.  Jordan  was  vei'y  rich  and  very  liberal, 
and,  indeed,  lavish  of  the  money  which  had 
elevated  him  above  all  his  early  friends  and 
associations,  lie  had  travelled  ;  he  bought 
pictures  ;  he  prided  himself  upon  his  library  ; 
and  he  Avas  very  good  to  his  young  tutor, 
who,  he  told  evei-ybody,  was  "a  lad  of 
genius ;"  but  naturally,  with  all  this,  Colin's 
existence  was  not  one  of  unmingled  bliss.  As 
soon  as  he  had  left  Ramore  he  began  to  look 
back  to  it  with  longing,  as  was  natural  to  his 
years.  The  sense  that  he  had  that  home  be- 
hind him,  with  everybody  ready  to  stand  by 
him  whatever  trouble  he  might  fall  into,  and 
every  heart  open  to  hear  and  sympathize  in 
all  the  particulars  of  his  life,  restored  the 
young  man  all  at  once  to  content  and  satis- 
faction with  the  homely  household  that  loved 
him.  When  he  was  there  life  looked  gray 
and  sombre  in  all  its  sober-rcolored  garments  ; 
but  when  he  looked  across  the  loch  at  the 
white  house  on  the  hillside,  that  little  habi- 
tation had  regained  its  ideal  character.  He 
had  some  things  to  endure,  as  was  natural, 
that  galled  his  high  spirit,  but,  on  the  whole, 
be  was  happier  than  if  Jie  had  still  been  at 
Ramore. 

And  BO  the  summer  passed  on.  lie  had 
sent  his  answer  to  Sir  Thomas  without  any 
delay, — ran  answer  in  which,  on  the  whole, 
his  father  concurred, — written  in  a  strain  of 
lofty  politeness  which  would  not  have  misbe- 
come a  young  prince.  "  He  was  destined  for 
the  Church  of  Scotland,"  Colin  wrote,  "and 
such  being  the  case,  it  was  best  that  he 
should  content  himself  with  the  training  of 
a  Scotch  university."  "  Less  perfect,  no 
doubt,"  the  boy  had  said,  with  a  kind  of 
haughty  humility  ;  "  but,  perhaps,  better 
adapted  to  the  future  occupations  of  a  Scotcli 
clergyman."  And  then  he  went  on  to  offer 
thanks  in  a  magnificent  way,  calculated  to 
ovenvhelm  utterly  the  good-natured  baronet, 
who  had  never  once  imagined  that  the  pride 
of  the  farmer's  son  would  be  wounded  by  his 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


proposal.  The  answer  had  been  sent,  and  no 
notice  had  been  taken  of  it.  It  was  months 
since  then,  and  not  a  word  of  Sir  Thomas 
Frankland  or  his  family  had  been  heard  about 
the  Holy  Loch.  They  seemed  to  have  disap- 
peared altogether  back  again  into  their  native 
firmament,  never  more  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of 
beholders  in  the  west  country.  It  was  hard 
upon  Colin  thus  to  lose,  at  a  stroke,  not  only 
the  hope  on  which  he  had  built  so  secur'-ty. 
but  at  the  same  time  a  great  part  of  the  gen- 
eral stimulation  of  his  life.  Not  only  the 
visionary  budding  love  which  had  filled  him 
with  so  many  sweet  thoughts,  but  even  the 
secret  rivalry  and  oppositit)n  which  no  one 
knew  of,  had  given  strength  and  animation 
to  his  life,  and  both  seemed  to  have  departed 
together.  He  mused  over  it  often  with  won- 
der, asking  himself  if  Lauderdale  was  right; 
if  it  was  true  that  most  things  come  to  noth- 
ing ;  and  whether  meetings  and  partings, 
which  looked  as  if  they  must  tell  upon  life 
for  ever  and  ever,  were,  after  all,  of  not  half 
so  much  account  as  the  steady  routine  of  ex- 
istence? The  youth  perplexed  himself  daily 
with  such  questions,  and  wrote  to  Lauderdale 
many  a  long,  mysterious  epistle  which  puz- 
zled still  more  his  anxious  friend,  who  could 
not  make  out  what  had  set  Colin's  brains 
astray  out  of  all  the  confident  philosophies  of 
his  years.  When  the  young  man,  in  his 
hours  of  leisure,  climbed  up  the  woody  ra- 
vine close  by,  to  where  the  burn  took  long 
leaps  over  the  rocks,  flinging  itself  down  in 
diamonds  and  showers  of  spray  into  the  heart 
of  the  deep  summer  foliage  in  the  Lady's 
Glon,  and  from  that  height  looked  down 
upon  the  castle  on  the  other  side,  seated 
among  its  leaves  and  trees  on  the  soft  prom- 
ontory which  narrowed  the  entrance  of  the 
loch,  Colin  could  not  but  feel  this  unexpected 
void  which,  was  suddenly  made  in  his  life. 
The  Frankland  family  had  been  prominent 
objects  on  his  horizon  for  a  number  of  years. 
In  disliking  or  liking,  they  had  been  al- 
ways before  him  ;  and  even  at  his  most  bel- 
ligerent period,  there  was  something  not  disa- 
greeable to  the  lad's  fancy,  at  least,  in  this 
link  of  connection  with  a  world  so  differ- 
ent from  his  own  —  a  world  in  which,  how- 
ever commonplace  might  be  the  majority  of 
the  actors,  such  great  persons  as  were  to  be  had 
in  the  age  might  still  bo  found.  And  now 
they  had  gone  altogether  away  out  of  Colin's 
reach  or  ken  ;  and  he  was  left  in  his  natural 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


position  nowise  affected  by  iiis  connection 
with  them.  It  was.  a  strange  feeling,  and 
notwithstanding  the  scorn  with  which  he  re- 
jected the  baronet's  kindness  and  declined  his 
patronage,  much  disappointment  and  morti- 
fication mingled  with  the  sense  of  surprise  in 
Colin 's  mind.  '« It  was  all  as  it  ought  to  be," 
he  said  to  himself  many  times  as  he  pondered 
over  it  ;  but,  perhaps,  if  it  had  been  quite  as 
he  expected,  he  would  not  have  needed  to  im- 
press that  sentiment  on  his  mind  by  so  many 
repetitions.  These  reflections  still  recurred 
tyo  him  all  the  summer  through  whenever  he 
had  any  time  to  himself.  But  Colin's  time 
was  not  much  at  his  own  disposal. 

Nature  had  given  to  the  country  lad  a 
countenance  which  propitiated  the  world. 
Not  that  it  was  handsome  in  the  abstract,  or 
could  bear  examination  feature  by  feature, 
but  there  were  few  people  who  could  resist 
the  mingled  shyness  and  frankness  of  the  eyes 
with  which  Colin  looked  out  upon  the  mirac- 
ulous universe,  perceiving  perpetual  wonders. 
The  surprise  of  existence  was  still  in  his  face, 
indignant  though  he  would  ha'^  been  had 
anybody  told  him  so  ;  and  tired  people  of  the 
world,  who  knew  better  than  they  practised, 
took  comfort  in  talking  to  the  youth,  who, 
whatever  he  might  choose  to  say,  was  still 
looking  as  might  be  seen,  with  fresh  eyes  at 
the  dewy  earth,  and  saw  everything  through 
the  atmosphere  of  the  moi'ning.  This  uncon- 
scious charm  of  his  told  greatly  upon  women, 
and  most  of  all  upon  women  who  were  older 
than  himself.  The  young  ladies  were  not  so 
sure  of  him,  for  his  fancy  was  pre-occupied  ; 
but  he  gained  many  friends  among  the  ma- 
trons whom  he  encountered,  and  such  friend- 
ships are  apt  to  make  large  inroads  upon  a 
young  man's  time.  And  their  hospitality 
reigns  paramount  on  those  sweet  shores  of 
the  Holy  Loch.  Mr.  Jordan  filled  his  hand- 
some house  with  a  continual  succession  of 
guests  from  all  quarters  ;  and  as  neither  the 
host  nor  hostess  was  in  the  least  degree  amus- 
ing, Colin's  services  were  in  constant  requi- 
sition. Sometimes  the  company  was  good, 
often  indifferent ;  but  at  all  events,  it  occu- 
pied the  youth,  and  kept  him  from  too  much 
inquisition  into  the  early  troubles  of  his  own 
career. 

His  life  went  on  in  this  fashion  until  Sep- 
tember brought  sportsmen  in  flocks  to  the 
heathery  braes  of  the  loch.  Colin,  whose 
engagement  was  but  a  temporary  one,  was 


39 

beginning  to  look  forward  once  again  to  his 
old  life  in  Glasgow — to  the  close  little  room 
in  Donaldson's  Land,  and  the  long  walks  and 
longer  talks  with  Lauderdale,  which  were 
almost  his  only  recreation.  Perhaps  the  idea 
was  not  so  agreeable  to  him  as  in  former 
years.  Somehow,  he  was  going  back  with  a 
duller  prospect  of  existence,  with  his  radiance 
of  variable  light  upon  his  horizon  ;  and  in  the 
absence  of  this  fairy  illumination  the  natural 
circumstances  became  more  palpable,  and 
struck  him  with  a  Bense  of  their  poverty  and 
meanness  such  as  he  had  never  felt  before. 
He  had  to  gulp  down  a  little  disgust  as  he 
thought  of  his  attic,  and  even,  in  the  invol- 
untai-y  fickleness  of  his  years,  was  not  quite 
so  sure  of  enjoying  Lauderdale's  philosophy 
as  he  had  once  been. 

He  was  in  this  state  of  mind  when  he  heard 
of  a  new  party  of  visitors  who  were  to  arrive 
the  day  after  at  Ardmartin — a  distinguished 
party  of  visitors,  fine  people,  whom  Mr.  Jor- 
dan had  met  somewhere  in  the  Avorld,  and 
who  had  deigned  to  forget  his  lack  of  rank, 
and  even  of  interest,  in  his  wealth  and  his 
grouse  and  the  convenient  situation  of  his 
house  ;  for  Colin's  employer  was  not  moder- 
ately rich, — a  condition  which  does  a  mariiio 
good  in  society, — but  had  heaps  upon  heaps 
of  money,  or  was  supposed  to  have  such, 
which  comes  to  about  the  same,  and  was  re- 
spected accordingly.  Colin  listened  but  lan- 
guidly to  the  scraps  of  talk  he  heard  about 
these  fine  people.  There  was  a  dowager 
countess  among  them  whose  name  abstracted 
the  lady  of  the  house  from  all  her  important 
considerations.  As  for  Colin,  he  was  still  too 
young  to  care  for  dowagers  ;  he  heard  with- 
out hearing  of  all  the  preparations  that  were 
to  be  made,  and  the  exertions  that  were 
thought  necessary  in  order  to  make  Ardmar- 
tin agreeable  to  so  illustrious  a  party,  and 
paid  very  little  attention  to  anything  that 
was  going  on,  hoping  within  himself  to  make 
his  escape  from  the  fuss  of  the  reception,  and 
have  a  little  time  to  himself.  On  the  after- 
noon on  which  they  were  expected  he  betook 
himself  to  the  hills,  as  soon  as  his  work  with 
his  pupils  was  over.  It  had  been  raining  as 
usual,  and  everything  shone  and  glistened  in 
the  sun,  which  blazed  all  over  the  braes  with 
a  brightness  which  did  not  neutralize  the 
chill  of  the  wind.  The  air  was  so  still  that 
Colin  heard  the  crack  of  the  sportsman's  gun 
from  different  points  around  him,  miles  apart 


40 


A    SON    OF 


from  eacli  other,  and  could,  even  on  the  height  1 
where  he  stood,  discriminate  the  throb  of  the 
little  steamer  which  was  progressing  through 
the  loch  at  his  feet,  reflecting  to  the  minutest 
touch,  from  its  pennon  of  white  steam  at  the 
funnel  to  the  patches  of  color  among  its  pas- 
sengers on  the  deck,  in  the  clear  water  on 
which  it  glided.  The  young  man  pursued 
his  walk  till  the  shadows  lx?gan  to  gather,  and 
the  big  bell  of  Ardmartin  pealed  out  its  sum- 
mons to  dress  into  all  the  echoes  as  he  reached 
the  gate.  The  house  looked  crowded  to  the 
verj'  door,  where  it  had  overflowed  in  a  mar- 
gin of  servants,  some  of  whom  were  still  im- 
porting the  last  carriage  as  Colin  entered, 
lie  pursued  his  way  to  his  own  room  lan- 
guidly enough,  for  he  was  tired,  and  he  was 
not  interested  cither.  As  he  went  up  the 
grand  staircase,  however,  he  passed  a  door 
which  was  ajar,  and  from  which  came  the 
sound  of  an  animated  conversation.  Colin 
started  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow,  as  one 
of  these  voices  fell  on  his  ear.  lie  came  to  a 
dead  pause  in  the  gallery  upon  which  this 
room  o^jeued,  and  stood  listening,  unconscious 
of  the  surprised  looks  of  somebody's  maid, 
who  passed  him  with  her  lady's  dress  in  her 
arms,  and  looked  very  curiously  at  the  tutor. 
Colin  stopped  short  and  listened,  suddenly 
roused  up  into  a  degree  of  interest  which 
brought  the  color  to  his  cheek  and  the  light 
to  his  eye.  lie  thouglit  all  the  ladies  of  the 
party  must  be  there,  so  varied  was  the  pleas- 
ant din  and  so  many  the  voices  ;  but  he  had 
been  standing  breathless,  in  the  most  eager 
pose  of  listening,  for  neai'ly  half  the  time 
allowed  for  dressing,  before  he  heard  again 
the  voice  which  had  arrested  him.  Then, 
when  he  began  to  imagine  that  it  must  have 
been  a  dream,  the  sound  struck  his  ear  once 
more — a  few  brief  syllables,  a  sweet,  sudden 
laugh,  and  again  silence.  Was  it  her  voice, 
or  was  it  only  a  mock  of  fancy?  While  he 
stood  lingering,  wondering,  straining  his  car 
for  a  repetition  of  the  sound,  the  door  opened 
softly,  and  various  white  figures  in  dressing- 
gowns  flitted  ofl"  up-stairs  and  down-stairs, 
some  of  them  uttering  little  exclamations  of 
fright  at  sight  of  the  alarming  apjiarition  of 
a  man.  It  was  pretty  to  sec  them  dispersing, 
like  so  many  white  doves,  from  that  momen- 
tary confabulation ;  but  she  was  not  among 
them.     Colin  went  up  to  bis  room  and  dressed 


THE    SOIL. 

with  lightning  speed,  chating  within  himself 
at  the  humble  place  which  he  was  expected 
to  take  at  the  table.  When  he  went  into 
the  dining-room,  as  usual,  all  the  rest  of  the 
party  were  taking  their  places.  Tlie  only 
womankind  distinctly  within  Colin's  sight 
was  one  of  fifty,  large  enough  to  make  six 
Matildas,  lie  could  not  see  her,  though  Ite 
strained  his  eyes  up  and  down  through  the 
long  alley  of  fruits  and  flowers.  Though  he 
was  not  twenty,  and  had  walked  about  ten 
miles  that  afternoon  over  the  wholesome 
heather,  the  poor  young  fellow  could  not  eat 
any  dinner.  lie  had  been  placed  beside  a 
hoary  old  man  to  amuse  him,  whom  his  em- 
ployer thought  might  be  useful  to  the  young 
student ;  but  Colin  had  not  half  a  dozen  words 
to  spend  upon  any  one.  Was  she  here,  or 
was  it  mere  imagination  which  brought  down 
to  him  now  and  then,  through  the  pauses  of 
the  conversation,  a  momentary  tone  that  was 
like  hers?  AVhen  the  ladies  left  the  room 
the  young  man  rushed,  though  it  was  not  his 
office,  to  open  the  door  for  them.  Another 
moment  ami  Colin  was  in  paradise — the  par- 
adise of  fools.  How  was  it  possible  that  he 
could  have  been  deceived  ?  The  little  start 
with  which  she  recognized  him,  the  moment 
of  surprise  which  made  her  drop  her  handker- 
cliicf  and  brought  the  color  to  her  cheek,  rapt 
the  lad  into  a  feeling  more  exquisite  than  any  ho 
had  known  all  his  life.  She  smiled  ;  she  gave 
him  a  rapid,  sweet  look  of  recognition,  which 
was  made  complete  by  that  start  of  surprise. 
Matilda  was  here,  under  the  same  roof— she 
whom  he  had  never  hoped  to  see  again.  Co- 
lin fell  headlong  into  the  unintended  swoon. 
He  sat  pondering  over  her  look  and  her  star- 
tled movements  all  the  tedious  time,  while 
the  other  men  drank  their  wine,  without  be- 
ing at  all  aware  what  divine  elixir  was  in  his 
cup.  Ilcr  look  of  sweet  wonder  kept  shining 
ever  brigliter  and  brighter  before  his  imagi- 
nation. Was  it  wonder  only,  or  some  dawn- 
ing of  another  sentiment  ?  Jf  she  had  spoken , 
the  spell  might  have  been  less  powerful.  A 
crowd  of  fairy  voices  kept  whispering  all 
manner  of  delicious  follies  in  Colin's  car,  as 
he  sat  waiting  for  the  moment  when  he  could 
follow  her.  Imagination  did  everything  for 
him  in  that  moment  of  expectation  and  un- 
looked-for delight. 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


PART    IV. — CHAPTER   X. 

Mr.  Jordan  had  invited  a  large  party  of 
people  to  meet  the  Dowager  Countess ;  but 
the  greatness  of  the  leading  light,  which  was 
to  illustrate  his  house,  had   blinded  him  to 
the  companion  stars  that  were  to  tremble  in 
her  company.     The   principal   people  about 
had  consented  graciously  to  be  reviewed  by 
her  ladyship,Jwho,  once  upon  a  time,  had  been 
a  very  great  lady  and  fashionable  potentate. 
•A  very  little  fashion  counts  for  much  on  the 
shores  of  the  Holy  Loch,  and  the  population 
was  moved  accordingly.     But  the  youog  la- 
dies who  accompanied  the  dowager  were  less 
carefully  provided  for.     When  Miss  Frank- 
land,  who  was  unquestionably  the  beauty  of 
the  party,  cast  a  glance  of  careless  but  acute 
observation  round  her,  after  all  the  gentlemen 
had  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  she  saw 
nobody  whom  she  cared  to  distinguish  by  her 
notice.     Most  of  the  men  about  had  a  flavor 
of  conventionality  in  their  talk  or  their  man- 
ner or  their  whiskers.     Most  of  them  were 
rich,  some  of  them  were  very  well  bred  and 
well  educated,  though  the  saucy  beauty  could 
not  perceive  it ;  but  there  was  not  an  Individ 
ual  among  them  who  moved  her  curiosity  or 
her  interest,  except  one  who  stood  rather  in 
the  background,  and  whose  eyes  kept  seeking 
her  with  wistful  devotion.     Colin  had  im- 
proved during  the  last  year.     He  was  younger 
than  Miss  Frankland,  a  fact  of  which  she  was 
aware,  and  he  was  at  the  age  upon  which  a 
year  tells  mightily.     Looking  at  him  in  the 
background,   through  clouds  of  complacent 
people  who  felt  themselves  Colin's  superiors, 
even  an  indifferent  spectator  might  have  dis- 
tinguished the  tall  youth,  with  those  heaps 
of  brown  hair  overshadowing  the  forehead 
which    might   have    been  apostrophized  as 
"domed    for    thought"   if   anybody  could 
have  seen  it :  and  in  his  eyes  that  gleam  of 
things  miraculous,  that  unconscious  surprise 
and  admiration,  which  would  have  given  a 
touch  of  poetry   to  the  most  commonplace 
countenance.     But  Miss  JIatilda  was  not  an 
indifferent  spectator.     She  was  fond  of  him 
in  her  way  as  women  are  fond  of  a  man  whom 
they  never  mean  to  love — fond  of  him  as  one 
is  fond  of  the  victim  who  consents  to  glorify 
one's  triumph.     As  she  looked  at  him  and 
saw  how  he  had  improved,  and  perceived  the 
faithful  allegiance  with  which  he  watched 
every  movement  she  made,  the  heart  of  the 
beauty  was  touched.     Worship  is  sweet,  even 


41 

when  it  is  only  a  country  boy  who  bestows  it 
— and  perhaps  this  counti-y  boy  might   turn 
out  a  genius  or  a  poet — not  that  Matilda  cared 
much  for  genius   or  poetry ;    but   she   liked 
everything  that  bestows  distinction,  and  was 
aware  that  in  the  lack  of  other  titles,  a  little 
notalnlity,  even  in  society,  might  bo  obtained, 
if  one  was  brave  and  knew  how  to  manage  it, 
by  these  means.     And  besides  all  this,  hon- 
estly, and  at  the  foundation,  she  was  fond  of 
Colin..    When  she  had  surveyed  all  the  com- 
pany, and  had  made  up  her  mind  that  there 
was  noliody  there  in  tlie  least  degree  interest- 
ing, she  held  up  her  fan  with  a  pretty  ges- 
ture, calling  him  to  her.     The  lad  made  his 
way  through  the  assembly  at  that  call  with  a 
smile  and  glow  of  exultation  which  it  is  im- 
possible to  describe,     llis  face  was  lighted  up 
with  a  kind  of  celestial  intoxication.     "Who 
is  that   very  handsome   young   man?"   the 
Dowager  Countess  was  moved  to  remark  as 
he  passed  within  her  ladyship's  range  of  vision, 
which  was  limited,  for  Lady  Hallamshire  was, 
like  most  other  people,  short-sighted.     "Oh, 
he  is  not  a  handsome  young  man  ;  he  is  only 
the  tutor,"  said  one  of  the  ladies  of  the  Holy 
Loch;  but,  notwithstanding,  she,  too,  looked 
after  Colin,  with  aroused  curiosity.     "  I  sup- 
pose Matty  Frankland  must  have  met  him  in 
society,"  said   the   dowager,   who  was  the 
most  comfortable  of  chapcroncs,  and  went  on 
with  her  talk,  turning   her  eyeglass   round 
and  towards  her  pretty  charge.     As  for  the 
young  men,  they  stared  at  Colin  Xvith  mingled 
consternation  and  wrath.     What  was  he?  a* 
fellow  who  had  not  a  penny,  a  mere  Scotch 
student,  to  be  distinguished  by  the  prettiest 
girl  in  the  room  ?  for  the  aspiring  people 
about  the  Holy  Loch,  as  well  as  in  the  other 
parts  of  Scotland,  had  come  to  entertain  that 
contempt  for  the  national  universities  and  na- 
tional scholarships  which  is  so  curious  a  fea- 
ture in  the  present  transition  state  of  tho 
country.     If  Colin  had  been  an  Oxford  man, 
the  west-country  people  would  have  thought 
it  quite  natural ;  but  a  Scotch  student  did  not 
impress  them  with  any  particular  respect. 

"I'm  60  glad  to  meet  you  again!  "  said 
Matty,  with  the  warmest  cordiality,  "  but  so 
surprised  to  see  you  here.  What  are  you 
doing  here  ?  why  have  you  come  away  from 
that  delicious  Ilamore,  where  I  am  sure  i 
should  live  for  ever  and  ever  if  it  were  mine*? 
What  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself 
all  this  time  ?    Come  and  tell  mc  all  about 


42 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


it,  and  I  do  so  want  to  know  how  every- 
thing is  looking  at  that  dear  castle  and  in  our 
favorite  glen.  Don't  j-ou  rcnfbmbcr  that  dar- 
ling glen  behind  the  church,  where  we  used  to 
gather  basketfuls  of  primroses — and  all  the 
lovely  moors?  I  am  dying  to  hear  about 
everything  and  everybody.  Do  come  and  eit 
down  here,  and  tell  me  all." 

"Where  shall  I  begin?  "  said  Colin,  who, 
utterly  forgetful  of  his  position,  and  all  the 
humilities  incumbent  on  him  in  such  an  ex- 
alted company,  had  instantly  taken  possession 
of  the  scat  she  pointed  out  to  him,  and  had 
placed  himself  according  to  her  orders  directly 
between  her  and  the  company,  shutting  her 
into  a  corner.  Miss  Matty  could  see  very 
well  all  that  was  going  on  in  the  drawing- 
room,  but  Colin  had  his  back  to  the  company, 
and  had  forgotten  everything  in  the  world  ex- 
cept her  face. 

"Oh,  with  yourself,  of  course,  "said  Matty. 
"  I  want  to  know  all  about  it ;  and,  first  of 
all,  what  are  you  doing  among  these  sort  of 
people?  "  the  young  lady  continued,  with  a 
little  more  of  her  face  toward  the  assembled 
multitude,  some  of  *whom  were  quite  within 
hearing. 

"  These  sort  of  people  have  very  little  to 
say  to  me,"  said  Colin;  who  suddenly  felt  him- 
self elevated  over  their  heads  ;  "  I  am  only 
the  tutor ;  "  and  the  two  foolish  young  crea- 
tures looked  at  each  other,  and  laughed,  as  if 
Colin  of  Ramore  had  been  a  prince  in  disguise, 
and  his  tutorship  an  excellent  joke. 

"  Oh,  you  are  only  the  tutor?  "  said  Miss 
Matty  ;  "  that  is  charming.  Then  one  will  be 
able  to  make  all  sorts  of  use  of  you.  Every- 
body is  allowed  to  maltreat  a  tutor.  You 
will  have  to  row  us  on  the  loch,  and  walk 
with  us  to  the  glen,  and  carry  our  cloaks,  and 
generally  conduct  yourself  as  becomes  a  slave 
and  vassal.  As  for  me,  I  shall  order  you 
about  with  the  greatest  freedom,  and  expect 
perfect  obedience,"  said  the  beauty,  looking 
with  her  eyes  full  of  laughter  into  Colin 's 
face, 

"  All  that  goes  without  saying,"  said 
Colin,  who  did  not  like  to  commit  himself  to 
the  French.  "  I  almost  think  I  have  already 
proved  my  perfect  allegiance." 

"  Oh,  you  were  only  a  boy  last  year,"  said 
Miss  Matty,  with  some  evanescent  change  of 
color,  which  looked  like  a  blush  to  Colin's 
deliglitcd  eyes.  "  Now  you  are  a  man  and  a 
tutor,  and  we  shall  behave  to  you  accordingly. 


IIow  lovely  that  glen  was  last  spring,  to  be 
sure,"  continued  the  girl,  with  a  little  quite 
unconscious  natural  feeling;  "do  you  re- 
member the  day  when  it  rained,  and  we  had 
to  wait  under  the  beeches,  and  when  you  im- 
agined all  sorts  of  things  in  the  gathering  of 
the  shower  ?  Do  you  write  any  poetry  now? 
I  want  so  much  to  see  what  you  have  been  do- 
ing since,"  said  the  siren,  who,  half-touched 
by  nature  in  her  own  person,  was  still  jicr- 
fectly  conscious  of  her  power. 

"  Since !  "  Colin  repeated  the  word  over 
to  himself  with  a  flush  of  happiness  which, 
perhaps,  no  such  good  in  existence  could  have 
equalled.  Poor  boy  !  if  he  could  but  have 
known  what  had  happened  "  since"  in  Miss 
Matty's  experience — but,  fortunately,  he  had 
not  the  smallest  idea  what  was  involved  in 
the  season  which  the  young  lady  had  lately 
terminated,  or  in  the  brilliant  winter  cam- 
paign in  the  country,  which  had  brought 
adorers  in  plenty,  but  nothing  worthy  of  the 
beauty's  acceptance,  to  Miss  Matty's  feet. 
Colin  thought  only  of  the  beatific  dreams,  the 
faithful  follies  which  had  occupied  liis  own  ju- 
venile imagination  "  since."  As  for  the  her- 
oine herself,  she  looked  slightly  confused  to 
hear  him  repeat  the  word.  She  had  meant 
it  to  produce  its  effect,  but  then  she  was  think- 
ing solely  of  a  male  creature  of  her  own  spe- 
cies, and  not  of  a  primitive,  innocent  soul  like 
that  which  looked  at  her  in  a  glow  of  young 
delight  out  of  Colin's  eyes.  She  was  used  to 
be  admired  and  complimented,  and  humored 
to  the  top  of  her  bent,  but  she  did  not  under- 
stand being  believed  in,  and  the  new  sensa- 
tion somewhat  fluttered  and  embarrassed  the 
young  woman  of  the  world.  She  watched 
his  look,  as  he  replied  to  her,  and  thereby 
added  double,  though  she  did  not  mean  it,  to 
the  cflect  of  what  she  had  said. 

"Ineverwrite  poetry,"  said  Colin  ;  "  I  wish 
I  could — I  know  how  I  should  use  the  gift ;  but 
1  have  a  few  verses  about  somewhere,  I  suppose, 
like  anybody  else.  Last  spring  I  was  almost 
persuaded  I  could  do  something  better  ;  but 
that  feeling  lasts  only  so  long  as  one's  inspira- 
tion lasts,"  said  the  youth,  looking  down,  in 
his  turn,  lest  his  meaning  might  be  discovered 
too  quickly  in  his  eye. 

And  then  there  ensued  a  pause, — a  pause 
which  was  more  dangerous  than  the  talk,  and 
which  Miss  Matty  made  haste  to  break. 

"  Do  you  know  you  are  very  much 
changed?  "  she  said.    "  You  never  did  any 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


of  this  society-talk  last  year.  You  have  been 
making  friends  with  some  ladies  somewhere, 
and  they  have  taught  you  conversation.  But, 
as  for  me,  I  am  your  early  friend,  and  I  pre- 
ferred you  when  you  did  not  talk  like  other 
people,"  said  Mies  Matty,  with  a  slight  pout. 
"  Tell  me  who  has  been  forming  your  mind,  " 

Perhaps  it  was  fortunate  for  Colin  at  this  mo- 
ment that  Lady  Ilallamshire  had  become  much 
bored  by  the  group  which  had  gathered  round 
her  sofa.  The  dowager  was  clever  in  her  way, 
and  had  written  a  novel  or  two,  and  was  ac- 
customed to  be  amused  by  the  people  who 
had  the  honor  of  talking  to  her.  Though 
she  was  no  -longer  a  leader  of  fashion,  she 
kept  up  the  manners  and  customs  of  that  re- 
markable species  of  the  human  race,  and 
when  she  was  bored,  permitted  her  sentiments 
to  be  plainly  visible  in  her  expressive  coun- 
tenance. Though  it  was  the  member  of  the 
county  who  was  enlightening  her  at  the  mo- 
ment in  the  statistics  of  the  West  Highlands, 
and  though  she  had  been  in  a  state  of  great 
anxiety  five  minutes  before  about  the  emi- 
gration which  was  depopulating  the  moors,  her 
ladyship  broke  in  quite  abruptly  in  the  midst 
of  the  poor-rates  with  a  totally  irrelevant  ob- 
servation : — 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  Matty  Frankland 
has  got  into  another  flirtation ;  I  must  go 
and  look  after  her,"  said  the  dowager  ;  and 
she  smiled  graciously  upon  the  explanatory 
member,  and  left  him  talking,  to  the  utter 
consternation  of  their  hostess.  Lady  Hallam- 
ehire  thought  it  probable  that  the  young  man 
was  amusing  as  well  as  handsome,  or  Matty 
Frankland,  who  was  a  girl  of  discretion, 
would  not  have  received  him  into  such  marked 
favor.  "  Though  I  dare  say  there  is  nobody 
here  worth  her  trouble,"  her  chapcrone 
thought  as  ehe  looked  round  the  room  ;  but 
anyhow  a  change  was  desirable.  "  Matty, 
mignonne,  I  want  to  know  what  you  are  talk- 
ing about,"  she  said,  suddenly  coming  to  an- 
chor opposite  the  two  young  people ;  and  a 
considerable  fuss  ensued  to  find  her  ladyship 
a  seat,  during  which  time  Colin  had  a  hun- 
dred minds  to  run  away.  The  company  took 
a  new  centre  after  this  performance  on  the 
part  of  the  great  lady,  and  poor  Colin,  all  at 
ence,  began  to  feel  that  he  was  doing  exactly 
the  reverse  of  what  was  expected  of  him.  He 
got  up  with  a  painful  blush  as  he  met  Mr. 
Jordan's  astonished  eye.  The  poor  boy  did 
not  know  that  he  had  been  much  more  re- 


43 

marked  before:  "flirting  openly  with  that 
dreadful  little  coquette,  INIiss  Frankland,  and 
turning  his  back  upon  his  superiors,"  as  some 
of  the  indignant  bystanders  said.  Even  Colin's 
matronly  friends,  who  pitied  him  and  formed 
his  mind ,  disapproved  of  his  behavior.  ' '  She 
only  means  to  make  a  fool  of  you,  and  you 
ought  not  to  allow  yourself  to  be  taken  in  by 
it,"  said  one  of  these  patronesses  in  his  ear, 
calling  him  aside.  But  fate  had  determined 
otherwise. 

"  Don't  go  away,"  said  Lady  Hallamshire. 
"  I  like  Matty  to  introduce  all  her  friends  to 
mc  ;  and  you  two  look  as  if  you  had  known 
each  other  a  long  time,"  said  the  dowager, 
graciously,  for  she  was  pleased,  like  most 
women,  by  Colin's  looks.  "  One  would 
know  him  again  if  one  met  him,"  she  added, 
in  an  audible  aside  ;  "  he  doesn't  look  exactly 
like  everybody  else,  as  most  young  men  do. 
Who  is  he,  ]\Iatty  ?  "  And  Miss  Frankland's 
chaperone  turned  the  light  of  her  countenance 
full  upon  Colin,  quite  indiflferent  to  the  fact 
that  he  had  heard  one  part  of  her  speech  quite 
as  well  as  the  other.  When  a  fine  lady  con- 
sents to  enter  the  outer  world,  it  is  to  be  ex- 
pected that  she  should  behave  herself  as  civil- 
ized people  do  among  savages,  and  the  Eng- 
lish among  the  other  pations  of  the  world. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  we  have  known  each  other  a 
long  time,"  said  Matty,  partly  with  a  gener- 
ous, partly  with  a  mischievous,  instinct. 
"  My  uncle  knows  Mr.  Campbell's  father  very 
well,  and  Harry  and  he  and  I  made  acquaint- 
ance when  we  were  children.  I  am  sure  you 
must  have  heard  how  nearly  Harry  was 
drowned  once  when  we  were  at  Kilchain  Cas- 
tle.    It  was  Mr.  Campbell  who  saved  his  life." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Lady  Hallamshire  ;  "  but  I 
thought  that  was  "—and  then  ehe  stopped 
short.  Looking  at  Colin  again,  her  Ifidy- 
ship's  experienced  eye  perceived  that  he  was 
not  arrayed  with  that  perfection  of  apparel 
to  which  she  was  accustomed  ;  but  at  the 
moment  her  eye  caught  his  glowing  face,  half 
pleased,  half  haughty  with  that  pride  of  low- 
liness which  is  of  all  pride  the  most  defiant. 
"  I  am  very  glad  to  make  Mr.  Campbell's  ac- 
quaintance,"— she  went  on  so  graciously  that 
everybody  forgot  the  pause.  ' '  Harry  Frank- 
land  is  a  very  dear  young  friend  of  mine,  and 
we  are  all  very  much  indebted  to  his  deliv- 
erer." 

It  was  just  what  a  distinguished  matron 
would  have  said  in  the  circumstances  in  one 


44 

of  Lady  lltiUamshirc'e  novels;  but,  instead 
of  remaining  overcome  with  grateful  confu- 
sion, as  the  hero  ought  to  have  done,  Colin 
made  an  immediate  reply. 

"  I  cannot  take  the  credit  people  give  mc," 
eaid  the  lad,  with  a  little  heat.  "  lie  hap- 
pened to  get  into  my  boat  when  he  was  nearly 
exhausted — that  is  the  whole  business.  There 
has  been  much  more  talk  about  it  than  was 
necessary.  I  cannot  pretend  even  to  be  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Frankland,"  eaid  Colin,  with 
the  unnecessary  cxplanatorincss  of  youth, 
"  and  I  certainly  did  not  save  his  life." 

With  which  speech  the  young  man  disap- 
peared out  of  sight  amid  the  wondering  as- 
sembly, which  privately  designated  him  a 
young  puppy  and  a  young  prig,  and  by  vari- 
ous other  epithets,  according  to  the  individual 
mind  of  the  speaker.  As  for  Lady  Ilallam- 
shire,  she  was  considerably  disgusted.  ' '  Your 
friend  is  original,  1  dare  say  ;  but  I  am  not 
sure  that  he  is  quite  civil,"  she  said  to  Matty, 
who  did  not  quite  know  whether  to  be  vexed 
or  pleased  by  Colin's  abrupt  withdrawal. 
Perhaps  on  the  whole  the  young  lady  liked 
him  better  for  having  a  mind  of  his  own,  not- 
withstanding his  devotion,  and  for  preferring 
to  bestow  his  worship  without  the  assistance 
of  spectators.  If  he  had  been  a  man  in  the 
least  possible  as  a  lover.  Miss  Frankland 
might  have  been  of  a  different  opinion  ;  but, 
as  that  was  totally  out  of  possibility,  Matty 
liked,  on  the  whole,  that  he  should  do  what 
was  ideally  right,  and  keep  up  her  conception 
of  him.  She  gave  her  head  a  pretty  toss  of 
semi-defiance,  and  went  across  the  room  to 
Mrs.  Jordan,  to  whom,she  was  very  amiable 
and  caressing  all  the  rest  of  the  evening.  But 
she  still  continued  to  watch  with  the  corner 
of  her  eye  the  tall  boyish  figure  which  was 
now  and  then  to  be  discerned  in  the  distance, 
with  those  masses  of  brown  hair  heaped  like 
clouds  upon  the  forehead,  which  Colin's 
height  made  visible  over  the  heads  of  many 
very  superior  people.  She  knew  he  was 
watching  her  and  noted  every  movement  she 
made,  and  she  felt  a  little  proud  of  the  slave, 
wlio,  though  he  was  only  the  tutor  and  a  poor 
fai'mer's  son,  had  something  in  his  eyes  which 
nobody  else  within  sight  had  any  inkling  of. 
Matty  was  rather  clever  in  her  way,  which 
was  as  much  different  from  Colin's  as  light 
from  darkness.  No  man  of  a  mental  calibre 
like  hers  could  have  found  him  out ;  but  she 
had  a  little  insight,  as  a  woman,  which  cn- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


abled  her  to  perceive  the  greater  height  when 
she  came  within  sight  of  it.  And  tlicn  poor 
Colin,  all  unconsciously,  had  given  her  such 
an  advantage  over  him.  He  had  laid  his 
boy's  heart  at  her  feet,  and,  half  in  love,  half 
in  imagination,  had  made  her  the  goddess  of 
his  youth.  If  she  had  thought  it  likely  to  do 
him  any  serious  damage,  perhaps  Matty,  who 
was  a  good  girl  enough,  and  was  of  some  use 
to  the  rector  and  very  popular  among  the 
poor  in  her  own  parish,  might  have  done  her 
duty  by  Colin,  and  crushed  this  pleasant  folly 
in  the  bud.  But  then  it  did  not  occur  to  her 
that  a  "  friendship  "  of  which  it  was  so  very 
evident  nothing  could  ever  come  could  harm 
anybody.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that  an  am- 
bitious Scotch  boy,  who  knew  no  more  of  the 
world  than  a  baby,  and  who  had  been  fed 
upon  all  the  tales  of  riches  achieved  and  glo- 
ries won  which  are  the  common  fare  of  many 
a  homely  household,  might  possibly  entertain 
a  different  opinion.  So  Matty  asked  all  kinds 
of  questions  about  him  of  Mrs.  Jordan,  and 
gave  him  now  and  then  a  little  nod  when  she 
met  his  eye,  and  generally  kept  up  a. kind  of 
special  intercourse  far  more  flattering  to  the 
youth  than  ordinary  conversation.  Poor 
Colin  neither  attempted  nor  wished  to  defend 
himself.  He  put  his  head  under  the  yoke, 
and  hugged  his  chains.  lie  collected  his  verses, 
poor  boy !  when  he  went  to  his  own  room 
that  night, — verses  which  he  knew  very  well 
were  true  to  him,  but  in  which  it  would  be 
rather  difficult  to  explain  the  fatal  stroke, — 
the  grievous  blow  on  which  he  had  expatiated 
so  vaguely  that  it  might  be  taken  to  mean  the 
death  of  his  lady  rather  than  the  simple  fact 
that  she  did  not  come  to  Kilchain  Castle  when 
he  expected  her.  How  to  make  her  under- 
stand that  this  was  the  object  of  his  lamenta- 
tions puzzled  him  a  little ;  for  Colin  knew 
enough  of  romance  to  be  aware  that  the  true 
lover  does  not  venture  to  address  the  princess 
until  he  has  so  far  conquered  fortune  as  to 
make  his  suit  with  honor  to  her  and  fitness 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  The  young  tutor 
sat  in  his  bare  little  room  out  of  the  Avay,  and, 
with  eyes  that  glowed  over  his  midnight  can- 
dle, looked  into  the  future,  and  calculated 
visionary  dates  at  which,  if  all  went  with  him 
as  he  hoped,  he  might  lay  his  trophies  at  his 
lady's  feet.  It  is  true  that  Matty  herself 
fully  intended  by  that  time  to  have  daughters 
ready  to  enter  uiton  the  round  of  conquest 
from  which  she  should  have  retired  into  ma- 


tron  dignity  ;  but  no  such  profanity  ever  oc- 
curred to  Colin.  Thus  the  two  thought  of  each 
other  as  they  went  to  their  rest — the  one  with 
all  the  delusions  of  heroic  youthful  love,  the 
other  with  no  delusions  at  all,  but  a  half  grati- 
tude, half  affection — a  woman's  compassionate 
fondness  for  the  man  who  had  touched  her 
heart  a  little  by  giving  her  his,  but  whom  it 
was  out  of  the  question  ever  to  think  of  lov- 
ing. And  BO  the  coils  of  fate  began  to  throw 
themselves  around  the  free-born  feet  of  young 
Colin  of  Ramore. 

CHAPTER   XI. 

Lady  Hallamshire  was  a  woman  very  ac- 
cessible to  a  little  judicious  flattery,  and  very 
sensible  of  good  living.  She  liked  Mr.  Jor- 
dan's liberal  house,  and  she  liked  the  court 
that  was  paid  to  her  ;  and  was  not  averse  to 
lengthening  out  her  visit,  and  converting 
three  days  into  a  fortnight,  especially  as  her 
ladyship's  youngest  son,  Horace  Fitz-Gibbon, 
who  was  a  lieutenant  in  the  navy,  was  ex- 
pected daily  in  the  Clyde^at  least  his  ship 
was,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing.  Hor- 
ace was  a  dashing  young  fellow  enough,  with 
nothing  but  his  handsome  face  (he  had  his 
mother's  nose,  as  everybody  acknowledged, 
and,  although  now  a  dowager,  she  had  been 
a  great  beauty  in  her  day)  and  the  honora- 
ble prefix  to  his  name  to  help  him  on  in  the 
world.  Lady  Hallamshire  had  heard  of  an 
heiress  or  two  about,  and  her  maternal  am- 
bition was  stimulated;  and,  at  the  same 
time,  the  grouse  were  bewitching,  and  the 
cooking  most  creditable.  The  only  thing  she 
was  sorry  for  was  JNIatty  Frankland,  her  lady- 
ship said,  who  never  could  stay  more  than  a 
week  anywhere,  unless  she  was  flirting  with 
somebody,  without  being  bored.  Perliaps 
the  necessary  conditions  had  been  obtained 
even  at  Ardmartin,  for  Matty  bore  up  very 
well  on  tlie  whole.  She  fulfilled  the  threat 
of  making  use  of  the  tutor  to  the  fullest  ex- 
tent;  and  Colin  gave' himself  up  to  the 
enjoyment  of  his  fool's  paradise  without  a 
thought  of  flying  from  the  dangerous  felicity. 
They  climbed  the  hills  together,  keeping  far 
in  advance  of  the  companions,  who  overtook 
them  only  to  find  the  mood  change,  and  to 
leave  behind  in  the  descent  the  pair  of  loiter- 
ers, whose  pace  no  calls  nor  advices,  nor  even 
the  frequent  shower,  could  quicken  ;  and  they 
rowed  .  together  over  the  lovely  loch,  about 
which  Matty,  having  much  fluency  of  lan- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL.  45 

uasro,  and  the  adroitness  of  a  little  woman 


of  the  world  in  appropriating  other  people's 
sentiments,  showed  even  more  enthusiasm 
than  Colin.  Perhaps  she,  too,  enjoyed  this 
wonderful  holiday  in  the  life  which  already 
she  knew  by  heart,  and  found  no  novelty  in. 
To  be  adored,  to  be  invested  with  all  the 
celestial  attributes,  to  feel  herself  the  one 
grand  object  in  somebody's  world,  is  pleasant 
to  a  woman .  ^Matty  almost  felt  as  if  she  were 
in  love,  without  the  responsibility  of  the 
thing,  or  any  need  for  troubling  herself  about 
what  it  was  going  to  come  to.  It  could  come 
to  nothing — except  an  expression  of  gratitude 
and  kindness  to  the  young  man  who  had  saved 
her  cousin's  life.  When  everything  was  so 
perfectly  safe,  there  could  be  no  harm  in  the 
enjoyment ;  and  the  conclusion  Matty  came 
to,  as  an  experimental  philosopher,  was,  that 
to  fall  in  love  really,  excepting  the  responsi- 
bilities, would  be  an  exciting  but  highly 
troublesome  amusement.  She  could  not  help 
thinking  to  herself  how  anxious  she  should 
be  about  Colin  if  such  a  thing  were  possible. 
How  those  mistakes  which  he  could  not  help 
making,  and  whidi  at  present  did  not  disturb 
her  in  the  least,  would  make  her  glow  and 
burn  with  shame,  if  he  were  really  anything 
to  her.  And  yet  he  was  a  great  deal  to  her. 
She  was  as  good  as  if  she  had  been  really 
possessed  by  that  love  on  which  she  specu- 
lated, and  almost  as  happy;  and  Colin  was 
in  her  mind  most  of  the  hours  of  the  day 
when  she  was  awake,  and  a  few  of  those  in 
which  she  slept.  The  difference  was,  that 
Matty  contemplated  quite  calmly  the  inevita- 
ble fact  of  leaving  Ardmartin  on  Monday,  and 
did  not  think  it  in  the  least  likely  that  she 
would  break  her  heart  over  the  parting ;  and 
that,  even  in  imagination,  she  never  for  a 
moment  connected  her  fate  with  that  of  her 
young  adorer.  As  for  the  poor  youth  him- 
self, he  went  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  en- 
chanted land.  He  went  without  any  resist- 
ance, giving  himself  up  to  the  sweet  fate. 
She  had  read  the  poems,  of  course,  and  had 
inquired  eagerly  into  that  calamity  which  oc- 
cupied so  great  a  part  in  them,  and  had  found 
out  what  it  was,  and  had  blushed  (as  Colin, 
thought),  but  was  not  angry.  What  could 
a  shy  young  lover,  whose  lips  were  sealed  by 
honor,  but  who  knew  his  eyes,  his  actions, 
his  productions  to  be  alike  eloquent,  desire 
more?  Sometimes  Lady  Hallamshire  con- 
sented to  weigh  down  the  boat,  which  dipped 


46 

hugely  at  the  stern  under  her  and  made 
Colin's  task  a  liard  one.  Sometimes  the  tu- 
tor, who  counted  for  nobody,  was  allowed  to 
conduct  a  cluster  of  girls,  of  whom  he  6aw 
but  one,  over  the  peaceful  water.  Lessons 
did  not  count  for  much  in  those  paradisiacal 
days.  ^liss  Frankland  bcfijgcd  holidays  for 
the  boys ;  begged  that  they  might  go  excur- 
sions with  her,  and  make  picnics  on  the  hill- 
side, and  accompany  her  to  all  sorts  of  places, 
till  Mrs.  Jordan  was  entirely  captivated  with 
Matty.  She  never  saw  a  young  lady  so  taken 
up  with  children,  the  excellent  woman  said  ; 
and  prophesied  that  Miss  Matty  would  make 
a  wonderful  mother  of  a  family  when  her 
time  came.  As  for  the  tutor,  ^Mrs.  Jordan, 
too,  took  hi  m  for  a  cipher,  and  explained  to 
him  how  improving  it  was  for  the  boys  to 
be  in  good  society,  by  way  of  apologizing  to 
Golin.  At  length  there  occurred  one  blessed 
day  in  which  Colin  and  his  boys  embarked 
with  Miss  Frankland  alone,  to  row  across  to 
Ramore.  "  My  uncle  has  so  high  an  opinion 
ofMr.  Campbell,"  Matty  said,  very  demurely; 
"  I  know  he  would  never  forgive  me  if  I  did 
not  go  to  see  him."  As  for  Colin,  his  bless- 
edness was  tempered  on  that  particular  occa- 
sion by  a  less  worthy  feeling.  He  felt,  if  not 
ashamed  of  Ramore,  at  least  apologetic  of  it 
and  its  accessories,  which  apology  took,  as 
was  natural  to  a  Scotch  lad  of  his  years,  an 
argumentative  and  defiant  tone. 

"It  is  a  poor  house  enough,"  said  Colin, 
as  he  pointed  it  out,  gleaming  white  upon 
the  hillside,  to  Miss  Matty, — who  pretended 
to  remember  it  perfectly,  but  who  after  all 
had  not  the  least  idea  which  was  Ramore, — 
"  but  I  would  not  change  with  anybody  I 
know.  "We  are  better  oiT  in  the  cottages 
than  you  in  the  parlors.  Comfort  is  a  poor 
sort  of  heathen  deity  to  be  worshipped  as  you 
worship  him  in  England.  As  for  us,  we  have 
a  higher  standard,"  said  the  lad,  half  in 
sport  and  more  than  half  in  earnest.  The 
two  3'oung  Jordans,  after  a  little  gaping  at 
the  talk  which  went  over  their  heads  (for 
Miss  Matty  was  wonderfully  taken  up  with 
the  children  only  when  their  mother  M'as 
present) ,  had  betaken  themselves  to  the  oc- 
cupation of  sailing  a  little  yacht  from  the 
bows  of  their  boat,  and  were  very  well  be- 
haved and  disturbed  nobody. 

"Yes,"  said  Matty,  in  an  absent  tone. 
"  By  the  way,  I  wish  very  much  you  would 
tell  mc  why  you  rejected  my  uncle's  proposal 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


about  going  to  Oxford.  I  suppose  you  have 
a  higher  standard  ;  but  then  they  say  you 
don't  have  such  good  scholars  in  Scotland. 
I  am  sure  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  am  wrong." 

"  But  I  did  not  say  you  were  wrong,"  said 
Colin,  who,  however,  grew  fiery  red  and 
burned  to  prove  his  scholarship  equal  to  that 
of  any  Eton  lad  or  Christchurch  man.  "  They 
say,  on  the  other  side,  that  a  man  may  get 
through  without  disgrace,  in  Oxford  or  Cam- 
bridge, who  doesn't  know  how  to  spell  Eng- 
lish," said  the  youth,  with  natural  exaspera- 
tion, and  took  a  few  long  strokes  which  sent 
the  boat  flying  across  the  summer  ripples,  and 
consumed  his  angry  energy.  He  was  quite 
ready  to  sneer  at  Scotch  scholarship  in  bis 
own  person,  when  he  and  his  fellows  were 
together,  and  even  to  sigh  on  the  completer 
order  and  profounder  studies  of  the  great 
universities  of  England  ;  but  to  acknowledge 
the  inferiority  of  his  country  in  any  particu- 
lar to  the  lady  of  his  wishes,  was  beyond  the 
virtue  of  a  Scotchman  and  a  lover. 

"  I  did  not  speak  of  stupid  people,"  said 
Mies  INIatty  ;  "  and  I  am  sure  I  did  not  mean 
to  vex  you.  Of  course  I  know  you  are  so 
very  clever  in  Scotland  ;  everybody  allows 
that.  I  love  Scotland  so  much,"  said  the 
politic  little  woman  ;  "  but  then  every  coun- 
try has  its  weak  points  and  its  strong  points  ; 
and  you  have  not  told  me  yet  why  you  re- 
jected my  uncle's  proposal.  He  wished  you 
very  much  to  accept  it ;  and  so  did  I,"  said 
the  siren,  after  a  little  pause,  lifting  upon 
Colin  the  half-subdued  light  of  her  blue  eyes. 

"  Why  did  you  wish  it?  "  the  lad  asked, 
as  was  to  be  expected,  bending  forward  to 
hear  the  answer  to  his  question. 

"  Oh,  look  there,  little  Ben  will  be  over- 
board in  another  minute,"  said  Matty,  and 
then  she  continued  lower,  "  I  can't  tell  you, 
I  am  sure  ;  because  I  thought  you  were  go- 
ing to  turn  out  a  great  genius,  I  suppose." 

"  But  you  don't  believe  that?''''  said  Colin  ; 
"  you  say  so  only  to  make  the  Holy  Loch 
a  little  more  like  paradise ;  and  that  is  un- 
necessary to-day,"  the  lad  went  on,  glancing 
round  him  with  eyes  full  of  the  light  that 
never  was  on  sea  or  land.  Though  ho,  was 
not  a  poet,  he  had  what  was  almost  better, — a 
poetic  soul.  The  great  world  moved  for  him 
always  amid  everlasting  melodies,  the  morn- 
ing and  the  evening  stars  singing  together  even 
through  the  common  day.  Just  now  his  cup 
was  about  running  over.     What  if,  to  crown 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


all,  God,  not  content  with  giving  him  life  and 
love,  had  indeed  visibly  to  the  sight  of  others, 
if  not  to  his  own,  bestowed  genius  also,  the 
other  gift  most  prized  of  youth.  Somehow, 
he  could  not  contradict  that  divine  peradven- 
ture.  "If  it  were  so,"  he  said  under  his 
breath,  "  if  it  were  so  !  "  and  the  other  little 
Boul  opposite,  who  had  lost  sight  of  Colin  at 
that  moment,  and  did  not  know  through  what 
bright  mists  he  was  wandering,  strained  her 
limited  vision  after  him,  and  wondered  and 
asked  what  he  meant. 

"If  it  were  so,"  said  Matty,"  what  then?" 
Most  likely  she  expected  a  compliment — and 
Colin "s  compliments  being  made  only  by  in- 
ference, and  with  a  shyness  and  an  emotion 
unknown  to  habitual  manufacturers  of  such 
articles,  were  far  from  being  unpleasant  offer- 
ings to  Miss  Matty,  who  was  slightly  hlase  of 
the  common  coin. 

But  Colin  only  shook  his  head,  and  bent 
his  strong  young  frame  to  the  oars,  and  shook 
back  the  clouds  of  brown  hair  from  his  half- 
visible  forehead.  The  boat  flew  like  a  swal- 
low along  the  crisp  bosom  of  the  loch.  Miss 
Matty  did  not  quite  know  what  to  make  of 
the  silence,  not  being  in  love.  She  took  off 
her  glove  and  held  her  pretty  hand  in  the  wa- 
ter over  the  side  of  the  boat,  but  the  loch  was 
cold,  and  she  withdrew  it  presently.  What 
was  he  thinking  of?  she  wondered.  Having 
lost  sight  of  him  thus,  she  was  reluctant  to 
begin  the  conversation  anew,  lest  she  might 
perhaps  say  something  which  would  betray 
her  non-comprehension,  and  bring  her  down 
from  that  pedestal  which,  after  all,  it  was 
pleasant  to  occupy.  Feminine  instinct  at  last 
suggested  to  Matty  what  was  the  very  beet 
thing  to  do  in  the  circumstances.  She  had  a 
pretty  voice,  and  perfect  ease  in  the  use  of  it, 
and  knew  exactly  what  she  could  do,  as  people 
of  limited  powers  generally  can.  So  she  be- 
gan to  sing,  murmuring  to  herself  at  first  as 
she  stooped  over  the  water,  and  then  rising 
into  full  voice.  As  for  Colin,  that  last  touch 
was  almost  too  much  for  him  ;  he  had  never 
hear4  her  sing  before,  and  he  could  not  help 
marvelling,  as  he  looked  at  her,  why  Provi- 
dence should  have  lavished  such  endowments 
upon  one,  and  left  so  many  others  unprovided 
— and  fell  to  rowing  softly,  dropping  his  oars 
into  the  sunshine  with  as  little  sound  as  pos- 
sible, to  do  full  justice  to  the  song.  When 
Matty  had  come  to  the  end,  she  turned  on  him 
quite  abruptly,  and,  almost  before  the  last 


47 

note  had  died  from  her  lips,  repeated  her 
question.  "  Now  tell  me  why  did  you  refuse 
to  go  to  Oxford?  "  said  the  little  siren,  look- 
ing full  into  Colin's  face. 

"  Because  I  can't  be  dependent  upon  any 
man,  and  because  I  had  done  nothing  to  en- 
title me  to  such  a  recompense,"  said  Colin, 
who  was  taken  by  surprise ;  "  you  made  a  mis- 
take about  that  business,"  he  said,  with  a 
slight  sudden  flush  of  color,  and  immediately 
fell  to  his  oars  again  with  all  his  might. 

"  It  is  very  odd,"  said  Miss  Matilda- 
"  Why  don't  you  like  Harry?  He  is  noth- 
ing particular,  but  he  is  a  very  good  sort  of 
boy,  and  it  is  so  strange  that  you  should  have 
such  a  hatred  to  each  other — I  mean  to  say, 
he  is  not  at  all  fond  of  you,"  she  continued, 
with  a  laugh.  "  I  believe  he  is  jealous  be- 
cause we  all  talk  of  you  so  much,  and  it  must 
be  rather  hard  upon  a  boy  after  all  to  have 
his  life  saved,  and  to  be  expected  to  be  grate- 
ful ;  for  I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say,"  said 
Miss  Matty.  "I  know  the  rights  of  it  better 
than  you  do — you  </^<f  save  his  life." 

"  I  hope  you  will  quite  release  him  from 
the  duty  of  being  grateful,"  said  Colin  ; 
"  I  don't  suppose  there  is  either  love  or  ha- 
tred between  us.  We  don't  know  each  other 
to  speak  of,  and  I  don't  see  any  reason  why 
we  should  be  fond  of  each  other  ;"  and  again 
Colin  sent  the  boat  forward  with  long,  rapid 
strokes,  getting  rid  of  the  superfluous  energy 
which  was  roused  within  him  by  hearing 
Frankland's  name. 

"  It  is  very  odd,"  said  Matty  again.  "I 
wonder  if  you  are  fated  to  be  rivals,  and  come 
in  each  other's  way.  If  I  knew  any  girl  that 
Harry  was  in  love  with,  I  should  not  like  to 
introduce  you  to  her,"  said  Miss  Matilda,  and 
she  stopped  and  laughed  a  little,  evidently  at 
something  in  her  own  mind.  "  How  odd  it 
would  be  if  you  were  to  be  rivals  through 
life,"  she  continued ;  "  I  am  sure  I  can't  tell 
which  I  should  most  wish  to  win — my  cousin, 
who  is  a  very  good  boy  in  his  way,  or  you, 
who  puzzle  me  so  often,"  said  the  little  witch, 
looking  suddenly  up  into  Colin's  eyes. 

"  How  is  it  possible  I  can  puzzle  you  ?  "  he 
said ;  but  the  innocent  youth  was  flattered  by 
the  sense  of  superiority  involved.  "  There 
can  be  very  little  rivalry  between  an  English 
baronet  and  a  Scotch  minister,"  continued 
Colin.  "  We  shall  never  come  in  each  other's 
way." 

"  And  must  you  be  a  Scotch  minister?  " 


48 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


Baid  Miss  Matty,  softly.  There  was  a  regret- 
ful tone  in  her  voice,  and  she  gave  an  appeal- 
ing glance  at  him,  as  if  she  were  remonstrat- 
ing against  that  ministry.  Perhaps  it  was 
well  for  Colin  that  they  were  so  near  the 
shore,  and  that  he  had  to  give  all  his  attention 
to  the  boat,  to  secure  the  best  landing  for 
those  delicate  little  feet.  As  he  leaped  ashore 
'himself,  ankle-deep  into  the  bright  but  cold 
water,  Colin  could  not  but  remember  his  boy- 
ish scorn  of  Henry  Frankland,  and  that  dis- 
like of  wet  feet  Avhich  was  so  amusing  and 
wonderful  to  the  country  boy.  Matters  were 
wonderfully  changed  now-a-days  for  Colin  ; 
but  still  he  plunged  into  the  water  with  a  cer- 
tain relish,  and  pulled  the  boat  ashore  with 
a  sense  of  his  strength  and  delight  in  it,  which 
at  such  a  moment  it  was  sweet  to  experience. 
As  for  Miss  jNIatty,  she  found  the  lull  very 
steep,  and  accepted  the  assistance  of  Colin's 
ai-m  to  get  over  the  sharp  pebbles  of  the  beach. 
"  One  ought  to  wear  strong  boots,"  she 
said,  holding  out  the  prettiest  little  foot, 
which  indeed  had  been  perfectly  revealed  be- 
fore by  the  festooned  dress,  which  Miss  Matty 
found  so  convenient  on  the  hills.  When 
Colin's  mother  saw  from  her  window  this  pair 
approaching  alone  (for  the  Jordan  boys  were 
ever  so  far  behind,  still  coquetting  with  their 
toy  yacht) ,  it  was  not  wonderful  if  her  heart 
beat  more  quickly^  than  usual.  She  jumped, 
with  her  womanish  imagination,  at  all  kinds 
of  incredible  results,  and  saw  her  Colin  happy 
and  great,  by  some  wonderful  conjunction  of 
his  own  genius  and  the  favor  of  others,  which 
it  would  have  been  hopeless  to  attempt  any 
comprehension  of.  The  mistress  altogether 
puzzled  and  overwhelmed  Miss  Matty  by  the 
greeting  she  gave  her.  The  little  woman  of 
the  world  looked  in  utter  amazement  at  the 
poor  farmer's  wife,  whom  she  meant  to  be  very 
kind  and  amiable  to,  but  who,  to  her  conster- 
nation, took  the  superior  part  by  right  of  na- 
ture; for  Mrs.  Campbell,  having  formed  her 
own  idea,  was  altogether  obtuse  to  her  visitor's 
condescensions.  The  parlor  at  Ramore  looked 
dingy  certainly  after  the  drawing-rooms  of 
Ardmartin,  and  all  the  business  of  the  farm 
was  manifestly  going  on  as  usual ;  but  even 
►  Colin,  sensitive  as  he  had  become  to  all  the 
dilTcrcnccs  of  circumstances,  was  puzzled,  like 
Matty,  and  felt  his  mother  to  have  suddenly 
developed  into  a  kind  of  primitive  princess. 
Perhaps  the  poor  boy  guessed  why,  and  felt 
that  his  love  was  elevating  not  only  himself 


but  everybody  who  belonged  to  him ;  but 
Miss  Matty,  who  did  not  understand  how 
profound  emotion  could  affect  anybody's  man- 
ners, nor  how  her  young  admirer's  mother 
could  be  influenced  by  his  sentiments,  was  en- 
tirely in  the  dark,  and  could  not  help  being 
immensely  impressed  by  the  bearing  and  de- 
meanor of  the  mistress  of  Ramore. 

"  I'm  glad  it's  such  a  bonny  day,"  said 
Colin's  mother ;  "  it  looks  natural  and  seemly 
to  see  you  here  on  a  day  like  this.  As  for 
Colin,  he  aye  brings  the  light  with  him,  but 
no  often  such  sunshine  as  you.  I  canna  lay 
any  great  feast  before  you,"  said  the  farmer's 
wife  with  a  smile,  "  but  young  things  like 
you  are  aye  near  enough  heaven  to  be  pleased 
with  the  common  mercies.  After  a',  if  I  was 
a  queen,  I  couldna  offer  you  anything  better 
than  the  wheat  bread  and  the  fresh  milk," 
said  the  mistress ;  and  she  set  down  on  the 
table,  with  her  own  tender  hands,  the  scones 
for  which  Ramore  was  famous,  and  the  abun- 
dant overrunning  jug  of  milk,  which  was  not 
to  be  surpassed  anywhere,  as  she  said.  Matty 
sat  down  with  an  odd  involuntary  conviction 
that  Mr.  Jordan's  magnificent  table  on  the 
other  side  of  the  loch  offered  but  a  poor  hos- 
pitality in  comparison.  Though  she  laughed 
at  herself,  we  know,  after,  it  was  quite  im- 
possible at  that  moment  to  feel  otherwise  than 
respectful.  "  I  never  saw  anybody  with  such 
beautiful  manners,"  she  said  to  Colin  as  they 
went  back  to  the  boat.  She  did  not  take  his 
arm  this  time,  but  walked  very  demurely  after 
him  down  the  narrow  path,  feeling  upon  her 
the  eyes  of  the  mistress,  who  was  standing  at 
her  door  as  usual  to  see  her  son  go  away. 
jMatty  could  not  help  a  little  natural  awe  of 
the  woman,  whose  fierce  eyes  were  watching 
her.  She  could  manage  her  aunt  perfectly, 
and  did  not  care  in  the  least  for  Lady  Ilal- 
lamshire,  who  was  the  most  accommodating 
of  chapcrones,  but  Mrs.  Campbell's  sweet 
looks  and  generous  reception  of  her  son's  en- 
slaver somehow  overwhelmed  Matty.  The 
mistress  looked  at  the  girl  as  if  she  considered 
her  capable  of  all  the  grand  and  simple  emo- 
tions, and  Matty  was  half-ashamed  and  half- 
frightened,  and  did  not  feel  able  at  the  mo- 
ment to  pursue  her  usual  amusement.  The 
row  back,  to  which  Colin  had  been  looking 
with  a  thrill  of  expectation,  was  silent  and 
grave,  in  comparison -with  all  their  former 
expeditions,  notwithstanding  that  this  was 
the  last  time  they  were   likely  to  see  each 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


other  alone.  Poor  Colin  thoujijht  of  Lauder- 
dale and  his  philosophy,  for  the  first  time  foi- 
many  days,  when  he  had  to  stop  behind  to 
place  the  boat  in  safety  on  the  beach,  even 
Matty,  who  generally  waited  for  him,  skip- 
ping up  the  avenue  as  fast  as  she  could  go, 
with  the  little  Jordans  beside  her.  Never 
yet  was  reality  which  came  truly  up  to  the 
expectation.  Here  was  an  end  of  his  fool's 
paradise ;  he  vexed  himself  by  going  over 
and  over  all  that  had  passed,  wondering  if 
anything  had  offended  her,  and  then  thought 
of  Eamore  with  a  pang  at  his  heart — a  pang 
of  something  nobler  than  the  mere  bitterness 
of  contrast,  which  sometimes  makes  a  poor 
man  over-ashamed  of  his  home.  But  all  this 
time  the  true  reason  for  this  new-born  reserve 
— which  IMiss  Matty  kept  up  victoriously  un- 
til about  the  close  of  the  evening,  when,  being 
utterly  bored,  she  forgot  her  good  resolution 
and  called  him  to  her  side  again — was  quite 
unsuspected  by  Colin.  He  oould  not  divine 
how  susceptible  to  the  opinion  of  women  was 
the  woman's  heart,  even  when  it  retained  but 
little  of  its  first  freshness.  ^Matty  was  not 
startled  by  Colin's  love,  but  she  was  by  his 
mother's  belief  in  it  and  herself;  it  stopped 
her  short  in  her  careless  career,  and  suggested 
endings  that  were  not  pleasant  to  think  of. 
If  she  had  been  left  in  amazement  for  a  day 
or  two  after,  it  might  have  been  well  for 
Colin  ;  but,  being  bored,  she  returned  to  her 
natural  amusement,  and  this  interiuption 
did  him  no  good  in  the  end. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

The  parting  of  the  two  who  had  been 
thrown  so  much  together,  who  had  thought 
60  much  of  each  other,  and  who  had,  notwith- 
Btanding,  so  few  things  in  common,  was  as 
near  an  absolute  parting  as  is  practicable  in 
this  world  of  constant  commotion ,  where  every- 
body meets  everybody  else  in  the  most  un- 
likely regions.  Colin  dared  not  propose  to 
write  to  her ;  dared  not,  indeed, — being  with- 
held by  the  highest  impulses  of  honor,— venture 
to  say  to  her  what  was  in  his  heart ;  and  Miss 
flatty  herself  was  a  little  silent, — perhaps  a 
little  moved, — and  could  not  utter  any  com- 
monplacf.e  about  meeting  again,  as  she  had 
intended  to  do.  So  they  said  good-by  to 
each  other  in  a  kind  of  absolute  way,  as  if  it 
might  be  for  ever  and  ever.  As  for  Matty, 
who  was  not  in  love,  but  whose  heart  was 
touched,  and  who  had  a  vague,   instinctive 

4 


49 

sense  that  she  m  ight  never  more  meet  anybody 
in  her  life  like  this  country  lad — perhaps  she 
had  enough  generosity  left  in  her  to  feel  that 
it  would  be  best  they  should  not  meet  again. 
But  Colin  had  no  such  thoughts.  He  knew 
in  his  heart  that  one  time — how  or  when  he 
knew  not — he  should  yet  go  to  her  feet  and 
offer  what  he  had  to  offer  :  everything  else  in 
the  world  except  that  one  thing  was  doubtful 
to  Colin,  but  concerning  that  he  was  confi- 
dent, and  entertained  no  fear.  '  And  so  they 
parted  ;  she,  perhaps,  for  half  an  hour  or  so, 
the  more  deeply  moved  of  the  two.  Miss 
Matty,  however,  was  just  as  captivating  as 
usual  in  the  next  house  they  went  to,  where 
there  were  one  or  two  people  worth  looking 
at,  and  the  company  in  general  was  more  in- 
teresting than  at  Ardmartin  ;  but  Colin,  for 
his  part,  spent  most  of  the  evening  on  the 
hillside,  revolving  in  the  silence  a  hundred 
tumultuous  thoughts.  It  was  the  end  of 
September,  and  the  nights  were  cold  on  the 
Holy  Loch.  There  was  not  even  a  moon 
to  enliven  the  landscape,  and  all  that  could 
be  seen  was  the  cold  blue  glimmer  of  the  wa- 
ter, upon  which  Colin  looked  down  with  a 
kind  of  desolate  sense  of  elevation — elevation 
of  the  mind  and  of  the  heart,  which  made  the 
grief  of  parting  look  like  a  grand  moral  agent, 
quickening  all  his  powers,  and  concentrating 
h  is  strength .  Henceforward  the  strongest  of 
personal  motives  was  to  inspire  him  in  all  his 
conflicts.  He  was  going  into  the  battle  of 
life  with  his  lady's  colors  on  his  helmet,  like 
a  knight  of  romance,  and  failure  was  not  to 
be  thought  of  as  a  possibility.  As  he  set  his 
face  to  the  wind  going  back  to  Ardmartin, 
the  pale  sky  lightened  over  the  other  side  of 
the  loch,  and  underneath  the  breaking  clouds, 
which  lay  so  black  on  the  hills,  Colin  saw  the 
distant  glimmer  of  a  light,  which  looked  like 
the  light  in  the  parlor  window  at  Ramorc. 
Just  then  a  sudden  gust  swept  across  the  hill- 
side, throwing  over  him  a  shower  of  falling 
leaves,  and  big  raindrops  from  the  last  shower 
which  had  been  hanging  on  the  branches. 
There  was  not  a  soul  on  the  road  but  Colin 
himself,  nor  anything  to  be  seen  far  or  near, 
except  the  dark  tree-tops  in  the  Lady's  Glen, 
which  were  sighing  in  the  night  wind,  and 
the  dark  side  of  Ardmartin,  where  all  the 
shutters  were  closed,  and  one  soft  star  hang- 
ing among  the  clouds  just  over  the  spot  where 
that  little  friendly  light  in  the  farmhouse  of 
Ramore  held  up  its  glimmer  of  human  conso- 


^0  A    SON    OF 

lation  into  the  darkness.  It  was  not  Hero's 
torch  to  light  his  love — was  it,  perhaps,  a  so- 
ber gleam  of  truth  and  wisdom  to  call  the 
young  Leandcr  back  from  those  bitter  waters 
in  which  he  could  but  perish  ?  All  kinds  of 
fancies  were  in  Colin's  mind  as  he  went  back, 
facing  the  wind,  to  the  dull,  cloeed-up  house, 
from  which  the  enchantment  had  departed  ; 
but  among  them  there  occurred  no  thought 
of  discouragement  from  this  pursuit  upon 
which  now  his  heart  was  set.  He  would 
have  drowned  himself,  could  he  have  imagined 
it  possible  that  he  could  cease  to  love — and 
60  long  as  he  loved,  how  was  it  possible  to 
fail? 

"And  must  you  be  a  Scotch  minister?" 
When  Colin  went  home  a  fortnight  later  to 
make  hia  preparations  for  returning  to  the 
University,  he  was  occupied,  to  the  exclusion 
of  almost  all  other  questions,  by  revolving 
this.  It  is  true  that  at  his  age,  and  with  his 
inexperience,  it  was  possible  to  imagine  that 
even  a  Scotch  minister,  totally  unfavored  by 
fortune,  might,  by  mere  dint  of  genius,  raise 
himself  to  heights  of  fame  sufficient  to  bring 
Sir  Thomas  Frankland'e  niece  within  his  reach 
— but  the  thing  was  unlikely,  even  to  the 
lively  imagination  of  twenty.  And  it  was 
I  he  fact  that  Colin  had  no  special  "  vocation  " 
toward  the  profession  for  which  he  was  being 
tramed.  lie  had  been  educated  and  destined 
for  it  all  his  life,  and  his  thoughts  had  a  nat- 
ural balance  that  way.  But  otherwise  there 
was  no  personal  impulse  in  his  mind  toward 
what  !Mrs.  Jordan  called  "  the  work  of  the 
ministry."  Hitherto  his  personal  impulses 
had  been  neither  for  nor  against.  Luckily 
for  Colin,  and  many  of  his  contemporaries, 
there  were  so  many  things  to  object  to  in  the 
Church  of  Scotland,  so  many  defects  of  order 
and  external  matters  which  required  reforma- 
tion, that  they  were  less  strongly  tempted  to 
become  sceptical  in  matters  of  faith  than  their 
fellows  elsewhere.  As  for  Colin  himself,  he 
had  fallen  off,  no  doubt,  from  the  certainty  of 
bis  boyhood  upon  many  important  matters  ; 
but  the  lad,  though  he  was  a  Scotsman,  was 
happily  illogical,  and  eufFered  very  little  by 
his  doubts.  Nothing  could  have  made  him 
sceptical,  in  any  real  sense  of  the  word,  and 
accordingly  there  was  no  repulsion  in  Colin's 
mind  against  his  future  profession.  But  now ! 
He  turned  it  over  in  his  mind  night  and  day 
in  the  interval  between  Matty's  departure  and 
his  own  return  to  Ramore.     What  if,  instead 


THE    SOIL. 

of  a  Scotch  minister,  incapable  of  promotion, 
and  to  whom  ambition  itself  was  unlawful, 
he  were  to  address  himself  to  the  Bar,  wiiere 
there  wei'e  at  least  chances  and  possibilities 
of  fame?.  lie  was  occupied  with  this  ques- 
tion, to  the  exclusion  of  any  other,  as  he 
crossed  the  loch  in  the  little  stream,  and  landed 
on  the  pier  near  Kamore,  where  hia  young 
brothers  met  him,  eager  to  carry  hie  travel- 
ling-bag, and  convey  him  home  in  triumph. 
Colin  was  aware  that  such  a  proposal  on  his 
part  would-occasion  grievous  disappointment 
at  home,  and  he  did  not  know  how  to  intro- 
duce the  subject,  or  disclose  his  wavering 
wishes.  It  was  a  wonderful  relief,  as  well 
as  confusion  to  him,  when  be  entered  the 
Ramore  parlor,  to  find  Lauderdale  in  posses- 
sion of  the  second  arm-chair,  opposite  the 
mistress's,  which  was  sacred  to  visitors.  He 
had  arrived  only  the  evening  before,  having 
left  Glasgow  "  for  a  holiday,  like  anybody  else, 
in  the  saut-water  season,"  said  the  gentle 
giant,  "  the  first  I  ever  mind  of  having  in  my 
life.  But  I'm  very  well  off  in  my  present 
situation,"  he  said,  breaking  off  suddenly, 
with  a  twinkle  of  mirth  in  his  eye,  as  was 
usual  when  he  referred  to  his  occupation,  the 
nature  of  which  was  unknown  even  to  his 
dearest  friends. 

"  It's  ower  cauld  to  have  much  good  of  the 
water,"  said  the  mistress  ;  "  the  boat's  no 
laid  up  yet,  waiting  for  Colin,  but  the 
weather's  awfu'  winterly — no  to  say  soft," 
she  added,  with  a  little  sigh,  "  for  it's  aye 
soft  weather  among  the  lochs,  though  we've 
had  less  rain  than  common  this  year." 

And  as  the  mistress  spoke,  the  familiar, 
well-known  rain  came  sweeping  down  over 
the  hills.  It  had  the  usual  effect  upon  the 
mind  of  the  sensitive  woman.  "  We  maun 
take  a'  the  good  we  can  of  you,  laddie,"  she 
said,  laying  her  kind  hand  on  her  boy's  shoul- 
der, "  it's  only  a  sight  we  get  now  in  passing. 
He's  owre  much  thought  of,  and  made  of,  to 
spend  his  time  at  hame,"  said  the  mistress, 
turning,  with  a  half-reproachful  pride  to  Lau- 
derdale ;  "  I'll  beawfu'  sorry  if  the  rain  lasts, 
on  your  account.  But,  for  myself,  I  could 
put  up  with  a  little  soft  weather,  to  see  mair 
of  Colin  ;  no  that  1  want  him  to  stay  at  hame 
when  he  might  be  enjoying  himself,"  the 
mother  added,  with  a  compunction.  Soft 
weather  on  the  Holy  Loch  signified  rain  and 
mist,  and  everything  that  was  most  discour- 
aging to  Mrs.  Campbell's  soul ;  but  she  was 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


51 


ready  to  undergo  anything  the  skies  could 
inflict  upon  her,  if  fortified  by  the  society  of 
her  son. 

It  was  the  second  night  after  this  before 
Colin  could  make  up  his  mind  to  introduce 
the  subject  of  which  his  thou^its  were  full. 
Tea  was  over  by  that  time,  and  all  the  house- 
hold assembled  in  the  parlor.  The  farmer 
himself  had  just  laid  down  his  newspaper, 
from  Avhich  he  had  been  reading  to  them 
scraps  of  country  gossip,  somewhat  to  the 
indignation  of  the  mistress,  who,  for  her 
part,  liked  to  hear  what  was  going  on  in  the 
world,  and  took  a  great  interest  in  Parliament 
and  the  foreign  intelligence.  "  I  canna  eay 
that  I'm  heeding  about  the  muckle  apple 
that's  been  grown  in  Clydesdale,  nor  the  new 
bailies  in  Greenock,"  said  the  farmer's  wife. 
"  If  you  would  read  us  something  wise-like 
about  the  poor  oppressed  Italians,  or  what 
Louis  Napoleon  is  thinking  about — I  canna 
excuse  him  for  what  they  ea'  the  coo-deta,''' 
said  Mrs.  Campbell ;  "  but  for  a'  that,  I  take 
a  great  interest  in  him  ;  "  and  with  this  the 
mistress  took  up  her  knitting  with  a  pleasant 
anticipation  of  more  important  news  to  come. 

"  There's  nothing  in  the  Herald  about 
Louis  Napoleon,"  said  the  farmer,  "  nor  the 
Italians  neither — no  that  I  put  much  faith  in 
those  Italians  ;  they'll  quarrel  amang  them- 
selves when  there's  naebody  else  to  quarrel 
wi' — though  I'm  no  saying  onything  against 
Cavour  and  Garibaldi.  The  paper's  filled  full 
o'  something  mair  immediately  interesting — 
at  least,  it  ought  to  have  mair  interest  to  you 
wi'  a  son  that's  to  be  a  minister.  Here's 
three  columns  mair  about  that  Di'eepdaily 
case.  It  may  be  a  grand  thing  for  popular 
rights,  but  it's  an  awfu'  ordeal  for  a  man  to 
gang  through,"  said  big  Colin,  looking  rue- 
fully at  his  son. 

"  I  was  looking  at  that,"  said  Lauderdale. 
"  It's  his  prayers  the  folk  seem  to  object  to 
most — and  no  wonder.  I've  heard  the  man 
mysel',  and  his  sermon  was  not  bad  reason- 
ing, if  anybody  wanted  reasoning ;  but  it's 
aye  a  wonderful  thing  to  me  the  way  that 
new  preachers  take  upon  them  to  explain 
matters  to  the  Almighty,"  said  Colin's  friend, 
reflectively.  "  So  far  as  I  can  see,  we've 
little  to  ask  in  our  worship ;  but  we  have  an 
awfu'  quantity  of  things  to  explain." 

"  It  is  an  ordeal  I  could  never  submit  to," 
said  Colin,  with  perhaps  a  little  more  heat 
than  was  necessary.     "I'd  rather  starve  than 


be  set  up  as  a  target  for  a  parish.  It  is  quite 
enough  to  make  a  cultivated  clergy  impossi- 
ble for  Scotland.  Who  would  submit  tu  ex- 
pose one's  life,  all  one's  antecedents,  all  one's 
qualities  of  mind  and  individualities  of  lan- 
guage to  the  stupid  criticism  of  a  set  of  boors? 
It  is  a  thing  I  never  would  submit  to,"  said 
the  lad,  meaning  to  introduce  his  doubts  upon 
the  general  subject  by  this  means. 

"  I  dinna  approve  of  such  large  talking," 
said  the  farmer,  laying  down  his  newspaper. 
"  It's  a  great  protection  to  popular  rights, 
I  would  sooner  run  the  risk  of  disgusting  a 
fastidious  laird  now  and  then,  than  put  in 
a  minister  that  gives  nae  satisfaction ;  and 
if  you  canna  submit  to  it,  Colin,  you'll  never 
get  a  kirk,  which  i»ould  be  worse  than  criti- 
cism," said  his  father,  looking  full  into  his 
face.  The  look  brought  a  conscious  color  to 
Colin's  cheeks. 

"  Well,"  said  the  young  man,  feeling  him- 
self driven  into  a  corner,  and  taking  what 
courage  he  could  from  the  emergency,  "  one 
might  choose  another  profession  ;  "  and  then 
there  was  a  pause,  and  everybody  looked  with 
alarm  and  amazement  on  the  bold  speaker. 
"  After  all,  the  Church  is  not  the  only  thing 
in  Scotland,"  said  Colin,  feeling  the  greatness 
of  his  temerity.  "  Nobody  ventures  to  say 
it  is  in  a  satisfactory  state.  How  often  do  I 
hear  you  criticising  the  sermon  and  finding 
fault  with  the  prayers?  and,  as  for  Lauder- 
dale, he  finds  fault  with  everything.  •  Then, 
look  how  much  a  man  has  to  bear  before  he 
gets  a  church  as  you  say.  As  soon  as  he  has 
his  presentation,  the  Presbytery  comes  to- 
gether and  asks  if  there  are  any  objections ; 
and  then  the  parish  sits  upon  the  unhappy 
man  ;  and,  when  everybody  has  had  their 
turn,  and  all  his  peculiarities  and  personal 
defects  and  family  history  have  been  discussed 
before  the  Presbytery,  and  put  in  the  news- 
papers, if  they  happen  to  be  amusing,  then 
the  poor  wretch  has  to  sign  a  confession  which 
nobody" — 

"  Stop  you  there,  Colin,  my  man,"  said 
the  farmer,  "  that's  enough  at  one  time.  I 
wouldna  say  that  you  were  a'thegither  wrong 
as  touching  the  sermon  and  the  prayers.  It's 
awfu'  to  go  in  from  the  like  of  this  hillside 
and  weary  the  very  heart  out  of  you  in  a  close 
kirk,  listening  to  a  man  preaching  that  has 
nothing  in  this  world  to  say.  I  am  whiles 
inclined  to  think,"  said  big  Colin,  thought- 
fully— ' '  laddies,  you  may  as  well  go  to  your 


beds.  You'll  see  Colin  the  morn,  and  ye 
canna  understand  what  we're  talking  about. 
I  am  whiles  disposed  to  think,"  he  continued 
after  a  pause,  during  which  the  younger  mem- 
bers of  the  family  had  left  the  room,  after  a 
little  gentle  persuasion  on  the  part  of  the 
mistress,  "  when  I  go  into  the  kirk  on  a 
bonnie  day,  such  as  we  have  by  times  on  the 
loch,  baith  in  summer  and  winter,  that  it's  an 
awfu'  waste  of  time.  You  lose  a'  the  bonnie 
prospect,  and  you  get  naething  but  weariness 
for  your  pains.  I've  aye  becu  awfu'  against 
set  prayers  read  out  of  a  book  ;  but  1  canna 
but  allow  the  English  chapel  has  an  advan- 
tage there,  for  nae  fool  can  spoil  your  devo- 
tion as  I've  heard  it  done  many  and  xiiany's 
the  time.  I  ken  our  minister's  prayers  very 
near  as  well  as  if  they  were  written  down," 
said  the  farmer  of  Ramore,  "  and  the  maist 
part  of  them  is  quite  nonsense.  Ony  little 
scraps  o'  real  supplication  there  may  be  ii 
them,  you  could  get  through  in  five  minutes 
the  rest  is  a'  remarks,  that  I  never  can  dis 
criminate  if  they're  meant  for  me  or  for  the 
Almighty  ;  but  my  next  neibor  would  think 
me  an  awfu'  heathen  if  he  heard  what  I'm 
saying,"  he  continued,  with  a  smile  ;  "  and 
I'm  far  from  sure  that  I  would  get  a  mair 
merciful  judgment  from  the  wife  herself." 

The  mistress  had  been  very  busy  with  her 
knitting  while  her  husband  was  speaking ; 
but,  notwithstanding  her  devotion  to  her 
work,  she  was  uneasy  and  could  not  help 
showing  it.  "  If  we  had  been  our  lane,  it 
would  have  been  naething,"  she  said  to  Colin, 
privately  ;  "  but  afore  yon  man  that's  a  stran- 
ger and  doesna  ken!  "  With  which  senti- 
ment she  sat  listening,  much  disturbed  in  her 
mind.  "  It's  no  a  thing  to  say  before  the 
bairns,"  she  said,  when  she  was  thus  ap- 
pealed to,  "nor  before  folk  that  dinna  ken  you. 
A  stranger  might  think  you  were  a  careless 
man  to  hear  you  speak,"  said  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell, turning  to  Lauderdale  with  a  bitter  vex- 
ation, "  for  a'  that  you  hanna  missed  the 
kirk  half  a  dozen  times  a'  the  years  I  have 
kcnt  you,  and  that's  a  long  time,"  said  the 
mother,  lifting  her  soft  eyes  to  her  boy.  When 
she  looked  at  him,  she  remembered  that  he, 
too,  had  been  rash  in  iiis  talk.  "  You're  turn- 
ing awfu'  like  your  father,  Colin,"  said  the 
mistress,  taking  up  the  same  tljoughtless  way 
of  talking.  "  Eut  I  think  diflercnt  for  a' 
you  say.  Our  ain  kirk  is  aye  our  ain  kirk 
to  you  as  well  as  to  me    in  spite  o'  your 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


speaking.  I'm  well  accustomed  to  their 
ways,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  to  Lauderdale, 
who,  so  far  from  being  the  dangerous  ob- 
server she  thought  him,  had  gone  off  at  a 
tangent  into  his  own  thoughts. 

"  The  Conression  of  Faith  is  a  real  respect- 
able historical  document,"  said  Lauderdale. 
"  I  might  not  like  to  commit  myself  to  a'  it 
says,  if  you  were  to  ask  me  ;  but  then  I'm 
not  the  kind  o'  man  that  has  a  heart  to  com- 
mit myself  to  anything  in  the  way  of  intel- 
lectual truth.  I  wouldna  bind  myself  to  say 
that  I  would  stand  by  any  document  a  year 
after  it  was  put  forth,  far  less  a  hundred 
years.  There's  things  in  it  naebody  believes 
— for  example,  about  the  earth  being  made 
in  six  days  ;  but  I  would  not  advise  a  man  to 
quarrel  with  his  kirk  and  his  profession  for 
the  like  of  that.  I  put  no  dependence  on 
geology  for  my  part,  nor  any  of  the  sciences. 
How  can  I  tell  but  somebody  might  make  a 
discovery  the  morn  that  would  upset  all  their 
fine  stories?  But,  on  the  whole,  I've  very 
little  to  say  against  the  Confession.  It's  far 
more  guarded  about  predestination  and  so 
forth  than  might  have  been  expected.  Every 
man  that  has  a  head  on  his  shoulders  be- 
lieves in  predestination  ;  though  I  would  not 
be  the  man  to  commit  myself  to  any  state- 
ment on  the  subject.  The  like  of  me  is  good 
for  little,"  said  Colin's  friend,  stretching  his 
long  limbs  toward  the  fire,  "  but  I've  great 
ambition  for  that  callant.  He's  not  a  com- 
mon callant,  though  I'm  speaking  before  his 
face,"  said  Lauderdale  ;  "  it  would  be  terri- 
ble mortifying  to  me  to  see  him  put  himself 
in  a  corner  and  refuse  the  yoke." 

"  If  I  cannot  bear  the  yoke  conscientiously, 
I  cannot  bear  it  at  all,"  said  Colin,  with  a 
little  heat.  "  If  you  can't  put  your  name  to 
what  you  don't  believe,  why  should  I'? — and 
as  for  ambition,"  said  the  lad,  "ambition! 
what  does  it  mean? — a  country  church,  and 
two  or  three  hundred  ploughmen  to  criticise 
me,  and  the  old  wives  to  keep  in  good  humor, 
and  the  young  ones  to  drink  tea  with — is  that 
work  for  a  man?"  cried  the  youth,  wlwsc 
mind  was  agitated,  and  who  naturally  had 
said  a  good  deal  more  than  he  intended  to 
say.  He  looked  round  in  a  little  alarm  after 
this  rash  utterance,  not  knowing  whether  he 
had  been  right  or  wrong  in  such  a  disclosure 
of  his  sentiments.  Tiie  lather  and  mother 
looked  at  each  other,  and  then  turned  their 
oyes  simultaneously  upon  their  son.     Perhaps 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


53 


the  mistress  bad  a  glimmering  of  the  correct 
meaning  which  Colin  would  not  have  betrayed 
wittingly,  had  it  cost  him  his  life. 

"  Eh,  Colin,  sometime  ye'll  think  better," 
she  cried  under  her  breath, — "  after  a'  our 
pride  in  you  and  our  hopes!  "  The  tears 
came  into  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him. 
"  It's  mair  honor  to  serve  God  than  to  get 
on  in  the  world,"  said  the  mistress.  The 
disappointment  went  to  her  heart,  as  Colin 
could  see ;  she  put  her  hands  hastily  to  her 
eyes  to  clear  away  the  moisture  which  dimmed 
them.  "  It's  maybe  naething  but  a  passing 
fancy  ;  but  it's  no  what  I  expected  to  hear 
from  any  bairn  of  mine,"  she  said,  with  mo- 
mentary bitterness.  As  for  the  farmer,  he 
looked  on  with  a  surprised  and  inquiring 
countenance. 

"There  has  some  change  come  over  you, 
Colin,  what  has  happened?  "  said  his  father. 
"  I'm  no  a  man  that  despises  money,  nor 
thinks  it  as  in  to  get  on  in  the  world  ;  but  it's 
only  fools  that  quarrel  wi'  what's  within  their 
reach  for  envy  of  what  they  can  never  win  to. 
If  ye  had  displayed  a  strong  bent  any  other 
way  I  wouldna  have  minded ,"  said  big  Colin — 
"  but  it's  aye  appeared  to  me  that  to  write 
in  a  kind  of  general  way  on  whatever  subject 
might  chance  to  turn  up  was  mair  the  turn  of 
your  mind  than  ony  other  line,  which  is  a 
sure  sign  you  were  born  to  be  a  minister.  It's 
the  new-fangled  dishes  at  Ardmartin  that 
have  spoiled  the  callant's  digestion,"  said  the 
farmer  with  a  twinkle  of  humor  in  his  eye — 
' '  they  tell  me  that  discontent  and  meesery  of 
a'  kinds  proceeds  no  from  the  mind  but  from 
the  mucous  membrane.  He'll  come  back  to 
his  natural  inclination  when  he's  been  at 
home  for  a  day  or  two.  I  would  na'  say  but 
Gregory's  mixture  was  a  great  moral  agent 
according  to  the  new  philosophy,"  said  big 
Colin,  laying  bis  large  hand  on  his  eon's 
shoulder  with  a  pressure  which  meant  more 
than  his  wordB ;  but  the  youth  was  vexed 
and  impatient,  and  imagined  himself  laughed 
at,  which  is  the  most  dreadful  of  insults,  at 
Colin's  age,  and  in  his  circumstances.  He 
paid  no  attention  to  his  father's  looks,  but 
plunged  straightway  into  vehement  declara- 
tion of  his  sentiments,  to  which  the  elder  peo- 
ple around  him  listened  with  many  complica- 
tions of  feeling  unknown  to  Colin.  The  lad 
thought,  as  was  natural  at  his  years,  that  no- 
body had  ever  felt  before  him  the  bondage  of 
circumstance,  and  that  it  was  a  new  revela- 


tion he  was  making  to  his  little  audience.  H 
he  could  have  imagined  that  both  the  men 
were  looking  at  him  with  the  half-sympathy, 
half-pity,  half-envy  of  their  maturer  years, 
remembering  as  vividly  as  if  it  had  occurred 
but  yesterday  similar  outbreaks  of  impatience 
and  ambition  and  natural  resistance  to  all  the 
obstacles  of  life,  Colin  would  have  felt  deeply 
humiliated  in  his  youthful  fervor ;  or,  if  he 
could  but  have  penetrated  the  film  of  soften- 
ing dew  in  his  mother's  eyes,  and  beheld  there 
the  woman's  perennial  spectatorship  of  that 
conflict  which  goes  on  forever.  Instead  of 
that,  he  thought  he  was  making  a  new  reve- 
lation to  his  hearers ;  he  thought  he  was 
cruel  to  them,  tearing  asunder  their  pleasant 
mists  of  illusion ,  and  disenchanting  their  eyes ; 
he  had  not  an  idea  that  they  knew  all  about 
it  better  than  he  did,  and  were  watching  him 
along  the  familiar  path  which  they  all  had 
trod  in  different  ways,  and  of  which  they 
knew  the  inevitable  ending.  Colin,  in  the 
heat  and  impatience  of  his  youth,  took  full 
advantage  of  his  moment  of  utterance.  He 
poured  forth  in  his  turn  that  flood  of  immeas- 
urable discontent  with  all  conditions  and  re- 
strictions, which  is  the  privilege  of  his  years. 
To  be  sure,  the  restrictions  and  conditions 
surrounding  himself  were,  so  far  as  he  knew, 
the  sole  objects  of  that  indignation  and  scorn 
and  defiance  which  came  to  his  lips  by  force 
of  nature.  The  mistress  listened,  for  her 
part,  with  that  mortification  which  is  always 
the  woman's  share.  She  understood  him, 
sympathized  with  him,  and  yet  did  not  un- 
derstand nor  could  tolerate  his  dissent  from 
all  that  in  her  better  judgment  she  had  de- 
cided upon  on  his  behalf.  She  was  far  more 
tender,  but  she  was  less  tolerant  than  the  other 
spectators  of  Colin's  outburst ;  and  mingled 
with  all  her  personal  feeling  was  a  sense  of 
wounded  pride  and  mortification,  that  her  boy 
had  thus  betrayed  himself  "before  a  stran- 
ger." "  If  we  had  been  our  lane,  it  would 
have. been  less  matter,"  she  said  to  herself,  as 
she  wiped  the  furtive  tears  hurriedly  from  the 
corners  of  her  eyes. 

When  Colin  had  come  to  an  end,  there  was 
a  pause.  The  boy  himself  thought  it  was  a 
pause  of  horror  and  consternation,  and  per- 
haps was  rather 'pleased  to  produce  an  efiect 
in  some  degree  corresponding  to  his  own  ex- 
citement. After  that  moment  of  silence, 
however,  the  farmer  got  up  from  bis  chair. 
"  It's  very  near  time  we  were  a'  gaun  to  our 


54 

beds,"  said  big  Colin.  "I'll  take  a  look 
round  to  see  that  the  beasts  are  comfortable, 
and  then  we'll  have  in  the  hot  water.  You 
and  me  can  have  a  talk  the  morn,"  eaid  the 
farmer  to  his  son.  That  was  all  the  reply 
which  the  youth  received  from  the  parental  '< 
authorities.  When  the  master  went  out  to  i 
look  after  the  beasts,  Lauderdale  followed  to 
the  door,  where  Colin  in  another  moment 
strayed  after  him,  considerably  mortified,  to 
tell  the  truth  ;  for  even  his  mother  addressed 
herself  to  the  question  of  "hot  water,"  which 
implied  various  other  accessories  of  the  homely 
supper-table  ;  and  the  3'oung  man,  in  his  ex- 
citement and  elevation  of  feeling,  felt  as  if 
he  had  suddenly  tuml)lcd  down  out  of  the 
stormy  but  lofty  firmament,  into  which  he 
was  soaring — down  with  a  shock,  into  the 
embraces  of  the  homely,  tenacious  earth.  He 
went  after  his  friend,  and  stood  by  Lauder- 
dale's side,  looking  out  into  a  darkness  so  pro- 
found that  it  made  his  eyes  ache  and  confused 
hifi  very  mind.  The  only  gleam  of  light  visi- 
ble in  earth  or  heaven  was  big  Colin's  lan- 
tern, which  showed  a  tiny  gleam  from  the 
door  of  the  byre  where  the  farmer  was  stand- 
ing. All  the  lovely  landscape  round  the  loch 
and  the  hills,  the  sky  and  the  clouds,  lay  un- 
seen,— hidden  in  the  night.  "  Which  is  an 
awfu'  grand  moral  lesson,  if  we  had  true 
sense  to  discern  it,"  said  the  voice  of  Lauder- 
dale, ascending  half-way  up  to  the  clouds ; 
"  for  tlie  loch  has  na  vanished,  as  might  be 
supposed,  but  only  the  light.  As  for  you, 
callant,"  said  the  philosopher,  "  you  hae  nei- 
tlicr  the  light  nor  the  darkness  as  yet,  but  are 
aye  seeing  miraculous  effects  like  yon  man 
Turner's  pictures.  Northern  Streamers,  or 
Aurora  Borealis,  or  whatever  ye  may  call  it. 
And  it's  but  just  you  should  have  your  day  ;  " 
with  which  words  Lauderdale  heaved  a  great 
sigh,  which  moved  the  clouds  of  hair  upon 
Colin's  forehead,  and  even  seemed  to  disturb 
for  a  moment  the  profound  gloom  of  the 
night. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  having  my  day  ?  " 
said  Colin,  who  was  affronted  by  the  sugges- 
tion. "  You  know  I  have  said  nothing  that 
is  not  true.  Can  I  help  it  if  I  see  the  diffi- 
culties of  my  own  position  more  clearly  than 
you  do,  who  arc  not  in  my  circumstances?  " 
cried  the  lad  with  a  little  indignation.  Lau- 
derdale, who  was  watching  the  lantern  glid- 
ing out  and  in  through  the  darkness,  was 
some  time  before  he  made  any  reply. 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


"  I'm  no  surprised  at  yon  callant  Lcander, 
when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,"  he  eaid,  in 
his  reflective  way  ;  "  it's  a  fine  symbol,  that 
Hero  in  her  tower.  Maybe  she  took  the 
lamp  from  the  altar  and  left  the  household 
god  in  darkness,"  said  the  calm  philosopher; 
"  but  that  makes  no  difference  to  the  story. 
I  would  na'  say  but  I  would  swim  the  Uclles- 
pont  myself  for  such  an  inducement — or  the 
Holy  Loch — it's  little*  matter  which — but 
whiles  she  lets  fall  the  torch  before  you  gtt 
to  the  end  " — 

"  What  on  earth,  do  you  mean?  or  what 
has  Hero  to  do  with  me?  "  cried  Colin,  with 
a  secret  flush  of  shame  and  rage,  which  the 
darkness  concealed,  but  which  he  could  scarce- 
ly restrain. 

"  I  was  not  speaking  of  you — and  after  all, 
it's  but  a  fable,"  said  Lauderdale  ;  "  most  his- 
tory is  fable,  you  know  ;  it's  no  actual  events 
(which  I  never  believe  in,  for  my  part),  but 
the  instincts  o'  the  human  mind  that  make 
history,  and  that's  how  the  Heros  and  Lcan- 
♦"crs  are  aye  to  be  accounted  for.  He  was 
drowned  in  the  end  like  most  people,"  said 
Lauderdale,  turning  back  to  the  parlor  where 
the  mistress  was  seated,  pondering  with  a 
troubled  countenance  upon  this  new  aspect 
of  her  boy's  life.  Amid  the  darkness  of  the 
world  outside,  this  tender  woman  sat  in  the 
sober  radiance  of  her  domestic  hearth,  sur- 
rounded and  enshrined  by  light ;  but  she  was 
not  like  Hero,  on  the  tower.  Colin,  too, 
came  back,  following  his  friend  with  a  flush 
of  excitement  upon  his  youthful  countenance. 
After  all,  the  idea  was  not  displeasing..to  the 
young  man.  The  Hellespont,  or  the  Holy 
Loch,  was  nothing  to  the  bitter  waters  which 
he  was  prepared  to  breast  for  the  sake  of  the 
imaginai-y  torch  held  up  in  the  hand  (3f  that 
imaginary  woman  who  was  beckoning  Colin, 
as  he  thought,  into  the  unknown  world.  Life 
was  beginning  anew  in  his  person,  and  all  the 
fables  had  to  be  enacted  over  again  ;  and 
what  did  it  matter  to  the  boy's  heroic  fancy, 
if  he,  too,  should  go  to  swell  tlie  records  of  the 
noble  martyrs,  and  be  drowned,  as  Lauderdale 
said,  like  most  people  in  the  end. 

There  was  no  more  conversation  upon  that 
important  subject  until  next  morning,  when 
the  household  of  Ramore  got  up  early,  and 
sat  down  to  breakfast  before  it  was  perfect 
daylight ;  but  Colin's  heart  jumped  to  his 
mouth,  and  a  visible  thrill  went  through  the 
whole  family,  when  the  I'armer  came  in  from 
his  early  inspection  of  all  the  byres  and 
stables,  with  another  letter  from  Sir  Thomas 
Frankland  conspicuous  in  his  hand. 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


55 


PART  r. — CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  The  question  is,  will  ye  go-or  will  ye 
stay  ?  "  said  big  Colin  of  Ramore  ;  "  but  for 
this,  you  and  me  might  have  had  amair  seri- 
ous question  to  discuss.  I  see  a  providence 
in  it  for  my  part.  You're  but  a  callant ;  it 
will  do  you  nae  harm  to  wait ;  and  you'll  be 
in  the  way  of  seeing  the  world  at — what  do 
they  call  the  place  ?  If  your  mother  has  nae 
objections,  and  ye  see  your  ain  way  to  ac- 
cepting, I'll  be  very  well  content.  It's  awfu' 
kind  o'  Sir  Thomas  after  the  way  ye've  re- 
jected a'  his  advances ;  but,  no  doubt  he's 
heard  that  you  got  on  gey  wecl,  on  the  whole, 
at  your  ain  college,"  said  the  farmer,  with  a 
little  complacency.  They  were  sitting  late 
over  the  breakfast-table,  the  younger  boys 
looking  on  with  eager  eyes,  wondering  over 
Colin'e  wonderful  chances,  and  feeling  se- 
verely the  contrast  of  their  own  lot,  who  had 
to  take  up  the  ready  satchel  and  the  "  piece," 
which  was  to  occupy  their  healthful  appetites 
till  the  evening,  and  hurry  off  three  miles 
down  the  loch  to  school.  As  for  Archie,  he 
had  been  long  gone  to  his  hard  labor  on  the 
farm,  and  the  mother  and  father  and  the  vis- 
itor were  now  sitting — a  little  committee — 
upon  Colin's  prospects,  which  the  lad  himself 
contemplated  with  a  mixture  of  delight  and 
defiance  wonderful  to  see. 

*'  It's  time  for  the  school,  bairns,"  said  the 
farmer's  wife;  "  be  good  laddies,  and  dinna 
linger  on  the  road  cither  coming  or  going. 
Ye'll  get  apples  apiece  in  the  press.  I  couldna 
give  ony  advice,  if  you  ask  me,"  said  the 
mistreee,  looking  at  her  son  with  her  tender 
ey* :  "  Colin,  my  man,  it's  no  for  me  nor 
your  father  either  to  say  one  thing  or  another 
— it's  you  that  must  decide — it's  your  ain 
well-being  and  comfort  and  happiness." — 
Here  the  mistress  stopped  short  with  an  emo- 
tion which  nobody  could  explain  ;  and  at 
which  even  Colin,  who  had  the  only  clew  to 
it,  looked  up  out  of  his  own  thoughts,  with 
a  momentary  surprise. 

"Hoot,"  said  the  farmer;  "you're  aye 
thinking  of  happiness,  you  women.  I  hope 
the  laddie's  happiness  doesna  lie  in  the  power 
of  a  year's  change  one  way  or  another.  I 
canna  see  that  it  will  do  him  any  harm — 
especially  after  what  he  was  saying  last  night 
— to  pause  awhile  and  take  a  little  thought ; 
and  here's  the  best  opportunity  he  could  well 
have.  But  he  doesna  say  anything  himself 
— and  if  you're  against  it,  Colin,  speak  out. 


It's  your  concern,  most  of  all,  asyourmothei 
says." 

"  The  callant's  in  a  terrible  swither,"  said 
Lauderdale,  with  a  smile, — "  he'll  have  it, 
and  he'll  no  have  it.  For  one  thing,  it's  an 
awfu'  disappointment  to  get  your  ain  way 
just  after  you've  made  up  your  mind  that 
you're  an  injured  man  ;  and  he's  but  a  cal- 
lant after  all,  and  kens  no  better.  For  my 
part,"  said  the  philosopher,  "I'm  no  fond 
of  changing  when  you've  once  laid  your 
plans.  No  man  can  tell  what  terrible  differ- 
ence a  turn  in  the  path  may  lead  to.  It's 
aye  best  to  go  straight  on.  But  there's  aye 
exceptions,"  continued  Lauderdale,  laying 
his  hand  on  Colin's  shoulder.  "  So  far  as  I 
can  see,  there's  no  reason  in  this  world  why 
the  callant  should  not  stand  still  a  moment 
and  taste  the  sweetness  of  his  lot.  He's 
come  to  man's  estate,  and  the  heavens  have 
never  gloomed  on  him  yet.  There's  no  evil 
in  him,  that  I  can  see,"  said  Colin's  friend, 
with  an  unusual  trembling  in  his  voice; 
"  but  for  human  weakness,  it  might  have 
been  the  lad  ^lichael  or  Gabriel,  out  of 
heaven,  that's  been  my  companion  these 
gladsome  years.  It  may  be  but  sweetness 
and  blessing  that's  in  store  for  him.  I  know 
no  reason  why  he  shouldna  pause  while  the 
sun's  shining,  and  see  God's  meaning.  It 
cannot  be  but  good." 

The  lad's  friend  who  understood  him  best 
stopped  short,  like  his  mother,  with  some- 
thing in  his  throat  that  marred  his  utterance. 
Why  was  it  ?  Colin  looked  up  with  the  sun- 
shine in  his  eyes,  and  laughed  with  a  little  an- 
noyance, a  little  impatience.  He  was  no  more 
afraid  of  his  lot,  nor  of  what  the  nest  turn  in 
the  path  would  bring,  than  a  child  is  who  knows 
no  evil.  Life  was  not  solemn,  but  glorious ;  a 
thing  to  be  conquered  and  made  beautiful,  to 
his  eyes.  He  did  not  understand  what  they 
meant  by  their  faltering  and  their  fears. 

"  I  feel,  on  the  whole,  disposed  to  accept 
Sir  Thomas's  offer,"  said  the  young  prince. 
"  It  is  no  favor,  for  I  am  quite  able  to  be  his 
boy's  tutor,  as  he  says  ;  and  I  see  nothing 
particularly  serious  in  it  either,"  the  young 
man  went  on  ;  "  most  Scotch  students  stop 
short  sometime  and  have  a  spell  of  teaching. 
I  have  been  tutor  at  Ardmartin  ;  I  don't 
mind  teing  tutor  at  Wodensbourne.  I  would 
not  be  dependent  on  Sir  Thomas  Frankland  or 
any  man,"  said  Colin ;  "  but  I  am  glad  to  la- 
bor for  myself,  and  free  you,  father.    I  know 


56 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


you  have  beeu  willing  to  keep  me  at  college  ; 
but  you  have  plenty  to  do  for  Archie  and  the 
rest ;  and  now  it  is  my  turn  ;  I  may  help  myself 
and  them  too,"  cried  the  youth,  glad  to  dis- 
guise in  that  view  of  the  matter  the  thrill  of 
delight  at  his  new  prospects,  which  came 
from  a  very  different  source.  "  It  will  give 
us  a  little  time,  as  you  say,  to  think  it  all 
over,"  he  continued,  after  a  momentary  pause, 
and  turned  upon  his  mother  Avith  a  smWe. 
"  Is  there  anything  to  look  melancholy 
about?  "  said  Colin,  turning  back  from  his 
forehead  the  clouds  of  his  brown  hair. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  God  forbid  !  "  said  the  mis- 
tress, "  nothing  but  hope  and  the  blessing  of 
God  ;  "  but  she  turned  aside  from  the  table, 
and  began  to  put  away  some  of  the  things  by 
way  of  concealing  the  tears  that  welled  up  to 
her  tender  eyes,  though  neither  she  nor  any 
one  for  her  could  have  told  why. 

"  Never  mind  your  mother,"  said  the 
farmer,  "  though  it's  out  of  the  common  to 
see  a  cloud  on  her  face  when  there's  no  cloud 
to  speak  of  on  the  sky.  But  women  are  aye 
having  freits  and  fancies.  I  think  it's  the 
wisest  thing  ye  can  do  to  close  with  Sir 
Thomas's  proposal,  mysel'.  I  wouldna  say 
but  you'll  see  a  good  deal  o'  the  world,"  said 
the  farmer,  shrewd  but  ignorant ;  "  not  that 
I'm  so  simple  as  to  suppose  that  an  English 
gentleman's  country-seat  will  bring  you  to 
onything  very  extraordinary  in  the  way  of 
company  ;  but  still,  that  class  of  folk  is  won- 
derfully connected,  and  ye  might  see  mair 
there  in  a  season  than  you  could  here  in  a 
lifetime.  It's  time  I  were  looking  after  x\rchie 
and  the  men,"  said  big  Colin  ;  "  it's  no  often 
I'm  so  late  in  the  morning.  I  suppose  you '11 
write  to  Sir  Thomas  yourself,  and  make  a' 
the  arrangements.  Ye  can  say  we're  quite 
content,  and  pleased  at  his  thoughtfulness. 
If  that's  no  to  your  mind,  Colin,  I'm  sorry 
for  it ;  for  a  man  should  be  aye  man  enough 
to  give  thanks  when  thanks  are  due."  With 
this  last  admonition  big  Colin  of  Ramore  took 
up  his  hat  and  went  off  to  his  fields.  '•  I 
wish  the  callant  didna  keep  a  grudge,"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  went  upon  his  cheerful 
way.  "  If  he  were  to  set  up  in  rivalry  wi' 
young  Frankland  !  "  but  with  the  thought  a 
certain  smile  came  upon  the  father's  face. 
He,  too,  could  not  refrain  from  a  certain  con- 
tempt of  the  baronet's  dainty  son  ;  and  there 
was  Bcircely  any  limit  to  his  pride  and  confi- 
dence in  his  boy. 


The  mistress  occupied  herself  in  jiutting 
things  to  rights  in  the  parlor  long  after  her 
husband  had  gone  to  the  fields.  She  thouglit 
Lauderdale,  too,  wanted  to  be  alone  witli  Colin  ; 
and,  with  natural  jealousy,  could  not  permit 
the  first  word  of  counsel  to  come  from  any 
lips  but  her  own.  The  mistress  had  no  baby 
to  occupy  her  in  these  days ;  the  little  one 
whom  she  had  on  her  bosom  at  the  opening 
of  this  history,  who  bore  her  own  name  and 
her  own  smile,  and  was  the  one  maiden  blos- 
som of  her  life,  had  gone  back  to  God  who 
gave  her  ;  and,  when  her  boys  were  at  school, 
the  gentle  woman  was  alone.  There  was  lit- 
tle doing  in  the  dairy  just  then,  and  ^Mrs. 
Campbell  had  planned  her  occupations  so  as 
to  have  all  the  time  that  was  possible  to  en- 
joy her  son's  society.  So  she  had  no  special 
call  upon  her  time  this  morning,  and  lingered 
over  her  little  businesses,  till  Lauderdale, 
who  would  fain  have  said  his  say,  strayed  out 
in  despair,  finding  no  room  for  him.  "  When 
you've  finished  your  letter,  Colin,  you'll  find 
me  on  the  hill,"  he  said  as  he  went  out ;  and 
could  not  refrain  from  a  murmur  in  his  own 
mind  at  the  troublesome  cares  of"  thae  wo- 
men." "  They're  sweet  to  see  about  a  house, 
and  the  place  is  hame  where  they  are,"  said 
the  philosopher  to  himself  with  a  sigh  ;  "  but 
oh,  such  fykes  as  they  ware  their  hearts  on  !  " 
The  mistress's  "  fykes,"  however,  were  over 
when  the  stranger  left  the  house.  She  came 
softly  to  Colin's  table,  where  he  was  writing, 
and  sat  down  beside  him.  As  for  Colin,  he 
was  so  miiich  absorbed  in  his  letter  that  he 
did  not  observe  his  mother  ;  and  it  \W8  only 
when  he  lifted  his  head  to  consider  a  s^teoce, 
and  found  her  before  him,  that  he  woke  up, 
with  a  little  start,  out  of  that  moreagrceal)le 
occupation,  and  asked,  "  Do  you  want  me?  " 
with  a  look  of  annoyance  which  went  to  the 
mistress's  heart. 

"  Yes,  Colin,  I  want  you  just  for  a  mo- 
ment," said  his  mother.  "I  want  to  speak 
to  you  of  this  new  change  in  your  life.  Your 
father  thinks  nothing  but  it's  Sir  Thomas 
Frankland  you're  going  to,  to  be  tutor  to  hia 
boy  ;  but,  oh,  Colin,  I  ken  better!  It's  no 
the  fine  house  and  the  new  life  that  lights 
such  light  in  my  laddie's  eye.  Colin,  listen 
to  me.  She's  fiir  above  you  in  this  world, 
though  it's  no  to  be  looked  for  that  I  could 
think  ony  woman  was  above  you  ;  but  she's 
a  lady  with  mony  wooers,  and  you're  but  a 
poor  man's  son.     Oh,  Colin,  my  man  !  dinna 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


57 


gang  near  that  place,  nor  put  yourself  in  the 
way  of  evil,  if  you  havena  some  confidence 
either  in  ber  oi*  yourscl'.  Do  you  think  you 
can  see  her  day  by  day  and  no  break  your 
heart  ;  or  do  you  think  she's  worthy  of  a 
heart  to  be  thrown  away  under  her  feet? 
Or,  oh,  my  laddie  !  tell  me  this  first  of  a', — do 
you  think  you  could  ask  her,  or  she  could 
consent,  to  lose  fortune  and  grandeur  for 
your  sake  ?  Colin,  I'm  no  joking  ;  it's  awfu' 
earnest,  whatever  you  may  think.  Tell  me 
if  you've  ony  regard  for  your  mother,  or  wish 
her  ony  kind  of  comfort  the  time  you're 
away?  " 

This  Mrs.  Campbell  said  with  tears  shin- 
ing in  her  eyes,  and  a  look  of  entreaty  in  her 
face,  which  Colin  had  hard  ado  to  meet. 
But  the  lad  was  full  of  his  own  thoughts, 
and  impatient  of  the  interruption  which  de- 
tained him. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  you  meant,"  he 
said,  pettishly.  "  I  wish  you  would  not  talk 
of — people  who  have  nothing  to  do  with  my 
poor  little  concerns.  Surely,  I  may  be  suf- 
fered to  engage  in  ordinary  work  like  other 
people,"  said  Colin.  "  As  for  the  lady  you 
speak  " — 

And  here  the  youth  paused,  with  a  natural 
smile  lurking  at  the  corners  of  his  lips, — a 
smile  of  youthful  confidence  and  self-gratu- 
lation.  Not  for  a  kingdom  would  the  young 
hero  have  boasted  of  any  look  or  word  that 
had  inspired  him ;  but  he  would  not  deny 
himself  the  delicious  consciousness  that  slie 
mufi^iave  had  something  to  do  with  this 
p^^Hl — that  it  must  have  been  her  sug- 
g^m,  or  at  least  supported,  seconded  by 
her.  Only  through  her  intimation  could  her 
uncle  have  known  that  he  was  tutor  at  Ard- 
martin,  and  the  thought  that  it  was  she  her- 
self who  was  taking  what  maidenly  means 
she  could  for  their  speedy  reunion  was  too 
sweet  to  Colin 's  heart  to  be  breathed  in 
words,-  even  if  he  could  have  done  it  with- 
out a  betrayal  of  his  hopes. 

"  Ay,  Colin,  the  lady,"  said  his  mother  ; 
"  you  say  no  more  in  words,  but  your  eye 
smiles  and  your  mouth,  and  I  see  the  flush 
on  your  cheek.  She's  bonnie  and  sweet  and 
fair-spoken,  and  I  canna  think  she  means  ony 
harm  ;  but,  oh,  Colin,  my  man,  mind  what  a 
difierence  in  this  world  !  You've  nothing  to 
offer  her  like  what  she's  been  used  to,"  said 
the  inifocent  woman,  "  and  if  I  was  to  see 
my  BO  a  some  back  breaking  his  heart  for  ane 


that  was  above  his  reach ^  and  that  mightna 
be  worthy" — said  the  mistress,  with  her 
;  eyes  full  of  tears.  She  could  not  say  any 
I  more,  partly  because  she  had  exhausted  her- 
.  self,  partly  because  Colin  rose  from  the  taljle 
I  witli  a  flush  of  excitement,  which  made  his 
i  mother  tremble. 

I  "  "Worthy  of  me !  "  said  the  young  man, 
with  a  kind  of  groan,  "worthy  of  me! 
;  Mother,  I  don't  think  you  know  what  you 
;  are  saying.  I  am  going  to  Wodcnsbourne, 
whatever  happens.  It  may  be  for  good  or 
for  evil ;  I  can't  tell ;  but  I  am  going,  and 
you  must  ask  me  no  further  questions, — not 
on  this  point.  I  am  to  be  tutor  to  Sir 
Thomas  Frankland's  boy,"  said  Colin,  com- 
ing back  with  the  smile  in  his  eyes.  "  Noth- 
ing more — and  what  could  happen  better  to 
a  poor  Scotch  student  ?  He  might  have  had 
a  Cambridge  man,  and  he  chooses  me.  Let 
me  finish  my  letter,  mother,  dear." 

"He  wouldna  get  many  Cambridge  men, 
or  ony  other  men,  like  my  boy,"  said  the 
mother,  half  retissured  ;  and  she  rearranged 
with  her  hands,  that  trembled  a  little,  the 
writing-desk,  which  Colin's  hasty  movements 
had  thrust  out  of  the  way. 

"Ah,  mother,  but  a  Scotch  university 
does  not  count  for  the  same  as  an  English 
one,"  said  Colin,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh  ; 
"  it  is  not  for  my  gifts  Sir  Thomas  has  chosen 
me,"  he  added,  a  little  impatiently  taking  up 
his  pen  again.  What  was  it  for  ?  That  old 
obligation  of  Harry  Frankland's  life  saved, 
which  Colin  had  always  treated  as  a  fiction? 
or  the  sweet  influence  of  some  one  who  knew 
that  Colin  loved  her?  Which  was  it?  If 
the  youth  determined  it  should  be  the  last, 
could  anybody  wonder?  He  bent  his  head 
again  over  his  paper,  and  wrote,  with  his 
heart  beating  high,  that  acceptance  which 
was  to  restore  him  to  her  society.  As  for  the 
mistress,  she  left  her  son,  and  went  about  her 
homely  business,  wiping  some  tears  from  her 
eyes.  "I  kenna  what  woman  could  close 
her  heart,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  little 
sob,  in  her  ignorance  and  innocence.  "  Oh, 
if  she's  only  worthy  !  "  but,  for  all  that,  the 
mother's  heart  was  heavy  within  her,  though 
she  could  not  have  told  why. 

The  letter  was  finished  and  sealed  up  before 
Colin  joined  his  friend  on  the  hillside,  where 
Lauderdale  was  straying  about  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  breathing  long  sighs  into  the 
fresh  ail',  and  unable  to  restrain,  or  account 


58  A    SON    OF 

for,  his  own  restlcsBnesa  and  uneasiness. 
One  of  those  great  dramas  of  sunshine  and 
Bhadow,  which  were  familiar  to  the  Holy 
Loch,  was  going  on  just  then  among  the  hills, 
and  the  philosopher  had  made  various  at- 
tempts to  interest  himself  in  those  wonderful 
alternations  of  gloom  and  light,  but  witliout 
avail.  Nature,  which  is  so  full  of  interest 
when  the  heart  is  unoccupied,  dwindles  and 
grows  pale  in  presence  of  the  poorest  human 
creature  who  throws  a  shadow  into  her  sun- 
shine. Not  all  those  wonderful  gleams  of 
light — not  all  those  clouds,  driven  wildly 
like  so  many  gigantic  phantoms  into  the  sol- 
emn hollows,  could  touch  the  heart  of  the 
man  who  was  trembling  for  his  friend.  Lau- 
derdale roused  himself  up  when  Colin  came 
to  him,  and  met  him  cheerfully.  "  So  you've 
written  your  letter?"  he  said,  "and  ac- 
cepted the  new  turn  in  your  fortune?  I 
thought  as  much  by  your  eye." 

"You  did  not  need  to  consult  my  eye," 
said  Colin,  gayly.  "  I  said  as  much.  But  I 
must  walk  down  to  the  loch  a  mile  or  two  to 
meet  the.  postman.  Will  you  come  ?  Let  us 
take  the  good  of  the  hills,"  said  the  youth, 
with  his  heart  running  over.  "  Who  can 
tell  when  we  may  be  here  again  together  ?  I 
like  this  autumn  weather,  with  its  stormy 
colors  ;  and  I  suppose  now  my  fortune,  as 
you  call  it,  will  lead  me  to  a  flat  country — 
that  is,  for  a  year  or  two  at  least." 

"  Ay,"  said  Lauderdale,  with  a  kind  of 
groan  ;  "  that  is  how  the  world  appears  at 
your  years.  Who  can  tell  when  we  may  be 
here  again  together  ?  Who  can  tell,  laddie, 
what  thoughts  may  be  in  our  hearts  when  we 
are  here  again  ?  I  never  have  any  security 
myself,  when  I  leave  a  place,  that  I'll  ever 
dare  to  comeback,"  said  the  meditative  man. 
"The  innocent  fields  might  have  a  cruel 
aspect,  as  if  God  had  cursed  them,  and,  for 
anything  I  know,  I  might  hate  the  flowers 
that  could  bloom,  and  the  sun  that  could 
shine,  and  had  no  heart  for  my  trouble.  No 
that  you  understand  what  I'm  meaning,  but 
that's  the  way  it  affocts  a  man  like  me." 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?"  cried  Colin, 
with  a  little  dismay.  "  One  would  Amcyjyou 
saw  some  terrible  evil  approaching.  Of 
course  tlie  future  is  uncertain,  but  I  am  not 
particularly  alarmed  by  anything  that  ap- 
pears to  me.  What  are  you  thinking  of, 
Lauderdale?    Your  own  career?  " 

"  Oh,  ay,  just  my  ain  career,"  said  Laudcr- 


THE    SOIL. 

dale,  with  a  smile  ;  "  such  a  career  to  make 
a  work  about !  though  I  am  just  as  content 
as  most  men.  I  mind  when  my  ain  spirit  was 
whiles  uplifted  as  yours  is,  laddie ;  it's  that 
that  makes  a  man  think.  It  comes  natural  to 
the  time  of  life,  like  the  bright  eye  and  the 
bloom  on  the  cheek , "  said  Colin 'e  friend ;  "  and 
there's  no  sentence  of  death  in  it  cither,  if 
yqu  come  to  that,"  he  went  on  to  himself  af- 
ter a  pause.  "  Life  holds  on — it  aye  holds 
on — a  hope  mair  or  less  makes  little  count. 
And  without  the  agony  and  the  struggle,  never 
man  that  was  worth  calling  man  came  to  hia 
full  stature."  All  this  Lauderdale  kept  say- 
ing to  liimself  as  he  descended  the  hillside, 
leaping  here  and  there  over  a  half-concealed 
streamlet,  and  making  his  way  through  the 
withered  ferns  and  the  long,  tangled  streamers 
of  the  bramble,  which  caught  at  him  as  he 
passed.  He  was  not  so  skilful  in  overcoming 
these  obstacles  as  Colin,  who  was  to  the  man- 
ner born  ;  and  he  got  a  little  out  of  breath 
as  ho  followed  the  lad,  who,  catching  his 
monologue  by  intervals  in  the  descent,  looked 
at  the  melancholy  philosopher  with  his  young 
eyes,  which  laughed,  and  did  not  understand. 

"  I  wonder  what  you  arc  thinking  of,"  said 
Colin.  "Not  of  me,  certainly;  but  I  sec 
you  are  afraid  of  something,  as  if  I  were  go- 
ing to  encounter  a  great  danger.  Lauder- 
dale," said  the  lad  stopping  and  laying  hia 
head  on  his  friend^  arm  for  one  confidential 
moment,  "whatever  danger  there  is,  I  have 
encountered  it.     Don't  be  afraid  for  mc." 

' '  I  was  saying  nothing  about  you ,  caUant , ' ' 
said  Lauderdale,  pettishly.  "  Whj^fcid 
I  aye  be  thinking  of  you  ?  A  man  hl^^ve 
things  to  consider  in  this  life  than  the  vagaries 
of  a  slip  of  a  laddie,  that  docsna  see  where 
he's  bound  for.  I'm  thinking  of  things  far 
out  of  your  way,"  said  the  philosopher; 
"  of  disappointments  and  heart-breaks,  and  a' 
the  eclipses  that  are  invisible  to  common 
e'en.  I've  seen  many  in  my  day.  I've  seen 
a  trifling  change  that  made  no  difTercnco  to 
the  world  quench  a'  the  light  and  a'  the  com- 
fort out  of  life.  There's  more  things  in 
heaven  or  earth  than  were  ever  dreamed  of  at 
your  years.  And  whiles  a  man  wonders  how, 
for  very  pity,  God  can  stay  still  in  his  heavens 
and  look  on  " — 

Colin  could  not  say  anything  to  the  groan 
with  which  his  friend  broke  ofT.  lie  was 
troubled  and  puzzled,  and  could  not  make  it 
out.    They  went  on  together  along  tlic  white 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


line  of  road,  oq  which,  far  off  in  the  distance, 
the  youth  ah-eady  saw  the  postman  whom  he 
was  hastening  to  meet ;  and,  busy  as  he  was 
with  his  own  thoughts,  Colin  had  already 
forgotten  to  inquire  what  his  companion  re- 
ferred to,  when  his  attention,  which  had  wan- 
dered completely  away  from  this  perplexing 
tale,  was  suddenly  recalled  again  by  the  voice 
at  his  side.  , 

"  I'm  speaking  like  a  man  that  cannot  see 
the  end,"  said  Lauderdale,  "  which  is  clear 
to  Him  if  there's  any  meaning  in  life.  You're 
for  taking  your  chance  and  posting  your  let- 
ter, laddie  ?  and  you  ken  nothing  about  any 
nonsense  that  an  old  fool  like  me  may  be 
maundering?  For  one  thing  there's  aye 
plenty  to  divert  the  mind  in  this  country," 
said  the  philosopher,  with  a  sigh,  and  stood 
still  at  the  foot  of  the  long  slope  they  had  just 
descended,  looking  with  a  wistful,  abstract 
look  upon  the  loch  and  the  hills  ;  at  which 
change  of  mood  Colin  could  not  restrain  him- 
self, but  with  ready  boyish  mirth  laughed 
aloud. 

"  What  has  this  country  to  do  with  it  all? 
You  are  in  a  very  queer  mi/od  to-day,  Lauder- 
dale,— one  moment  as  solemn  and  mysterious 
as  if  you  knew  of  some  great  calamity,  and 
the  next  talking  of  the  country.  What  do 
you  mean,  I  wonder?  "  said  the  lad.  Ills 
wonder  was  not  very  deep,  but  stirred  lightly 
in  the  heart  which  was  full  of  so  many  wishes 
and  ambitious  of  its  own.  With  that  letter 
in  his  hand,  and  that  new  life  before  him, 
h.ow  could  he  help  but  look  at  the  lonely  man 
bjJMIteide  with  a  half-divine  compassion  ? — 
a  vKKrto  whom  life  offei*ed  no  prizes,  and 
scarcely  any  hopes.  lie  was  aware  in  his 
heart  that  Lauderdale  was  anxious  about  him- 
self, and  the  thought  of  that  unnecessary  so- 
licitude moved  Colin  half  to  laughter.  Poor 
Lauderdale , — u  pon  whom  he  looked  down  from 
the  elevation  of  his  young  life  with  the  ten- 
derest  pity.  He  smiled  upon  his  friend  in 
his  exaltation  and  superiority.  "You  are 
more  inexplicable  than  usual  to-day.  I  won- 
der what  you  mean?  "said  Colin  with  all 
the  sunshine  of  youth  and  joy,  defying  evil 
forebodings,  in  his  eyes. 

"  It  would  take  a  wise  man  to  tell,"  said 
Lauderdale;  "  I  would  not  pretend,  for  my 
own  part,  to  fathom  what  any  fool  might 
mean — much  less  what  I  mean  myself,  that 
have  glimmerings  of  sense  at  times.      Yon 


69 

sunshine's  aiyXu'  prying  about  the  hills. 
Light's  aye  inquisitive,  and  would  fain  be  at 
the  bottom  of  every  mystery,  which  is,  maybe, 
the  reason,"  said  the  speculative  observer, 
"  why  there's  nae  grandeur  to  speak  of,  nor 
meaning,  according  to  mortal  notions,  with- 
out clouds  and  darkness.  Yonder's  your 
postman,  callant.  Give  him  the  letter  and 
be  done  with  it.  I  whiles  find  myself  won- 
dering how  it  is  that  we  take  so  little  thought 
to  God's  meanings, — what  ye  might  call  his 
lighter  meanings, — his  easy  verses  and  such- 
like, that  arc  thrown  about  the  world,  in  the 
winds  and  the  sky.  To  be  sure,  I  ken  just 
as  well  as  you  do  that  it's  currents  of  air, 
and  masses  of  vapor  and  electricity,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  It's  awfu'  easy  learning  the 
words,  but  will  you  tell  me  there's  no  mean- 
ing to  a  man's  heart  and  soul  in  the  like  of 
that?"  said  Colin's  companion  stopping 
suddenly  with  a  sigh  of  impatience  and  vexa- 
tion, which  had  to  do  with  something  more 
vital  than  the  clouds.  Just  then,  nature 
truly  seemed  to  have  come  to  a  pause,  and  to 
be  standing  still,  like  themselves,  looking  on. 
The  sky  that  was  so  blue  and  broad  a  mo- 
ment since  had  contracted  to  a  black  vault 
over  the  Holy  Loch.  Blackness  that  was 
positive  and  not  a  mere  negative  frowned  out 
of  all  the  half-disclosed  mysterious  hollows 
of  the  hills.  The  leaves  that  remained  on  the 
trees  thrilled  with  a  spasmodic  shiver,  and 
the  little  ripples  came  crowding  up  on  the 
beach  with  a  sighing  suppressed  moan  of  sus- 
pense and  apprehension.  So,  at  least,  it 
seemed  to  one  if  not  both  of  the  spectators 
standing  by. 

"  It  means  a  thunder-storm,  in  the  first 
place,"  said  Colin  ;  "  look  how  it  begins  to 
come  down  in  a  torrent  of  gloom  over  Loch 
Goil.  We  have  just  time  to  get  under  shel- 
ter. It  is  very  well  for  us  we  are  so  near  Ra- 
more." 

"Ay" —  said  Lauderdale.  He  repeated 
the  syllable  over  again  and  again  as  they  hur- 
ried back.  "  But  the  time  wiM  come  when 
we'll  no  be  near  Ramore,"  he  said  to  himself 
as  the  storm  reached  him  *and  dashed  in  his 
face  not  twenty  yards  from  the  open  door. 
Colin's  laugh,  as  he  reached  with  a  bound  the 
kindly  portal,  was  all  the  answer  which  youth 
and  hope  gave  to  experience.  The  boy  was 
not  to  be  discouraged  on  that  sweet  thresh- 
old of  his  life. 


60 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"WoDEysDOURXE  was  as  different  from  any 
house  that  Colin  had  ever  seen  before  as  the 
low,  flat  country,  rich  and  damp  and  monot- 
onous, was  unlike  the  infinitely  varied  land- 
scape to  which  his  eye  had  been  accustomed 
all  his  life.  The  florid  upholstery  of  Ardmar- 
tin  contrasted  almost  strangely  with  the  sober 
magnificence  of  the  old  family  house  in  which 
the  Franklands  had  lived  and  died  for  gener- 
ations, as  did  the  simple  little  rooms  to  which 
Colin  had  been  accustomed  in  his  father's 
house.  Perhaps,  on  the  whole,  Ramore, 
where  everything  was  for  use  and  nothing  for 
show,  was  less  unharmonious  with  all  he  saw 
about  him  than  the  equipments  of  the  brand- 
new  castle,  all  built  out  of  new  money,  and 
gilded  and  lackered  to  a  climax  of  domestic 
finery.  Colin's  pupil  was  the  invalid  of  the 
family, — a  boy  of  twelve,  who  could  not  go  to 
Eton  like  his  brothers,  but  whom  the  good- 
natured  baronet  thought,  as  was  natural,  the 
cleverest  of  his  family.  "  That's  why  I  wanted 
you  so  much,  Campbell,"  Sir  Thomas  said,  by 
way  of  setting  Colin  at  ease  in  his  new  occu- 
pation ;  "  he's  not  a  boy  to  be  kept  to  clas- 
sics, isn't  Charley — tliere's  nothing  that  boy 
wouldn't  master — and  shut  up,  as  he  has  to 
be,  with  his  wretched  health,  he  wants  a  lit- 
tle variety.  I've  always  heard  you  took  a 
wider  range  in  Scotland  ;  that's  what  I  want 
for  my  boy."  It  was  with  this  that  the  new 
tutor  was  introduced  to  his  duties  at  Wodens- 
bourne.  But  a  terrible  disappointment  await- 
ed the  young  man, — a  disappointment  utterly 
unforeseen.  There  was  nobody  there  but  Sir 
Thomas  himself  and  Charley  and  some  little 
ones  still  in  the  nursery.  "  We're  all  by  our- 
selves ;  but  you  wont  mind,"  said  the  baronet, 
who  seemed  to  think  it  all  the  better  for  Co- 
lin ;  "my  lady  and  ^liss  Matty  will  be  home 
before  Christmas,  and  you  can  get  yourself 
settled  comfortably  in  the  mean  time.  Lady 
Frankland  is  with  her  sister,  who  is  in  very 
bad  health.  I  don't  know  what  people  mean 
by  getting  into  bad  health — women,  too,  that 
can't  go  itt  for  free  living  and  that  sort  of 
thing,"  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  The  place  looks 
dreary  without  the  ladies  ;  but  they'll  be  back 
before  Christmas  ;  "  and  he  went  to  sleep  after 
dinner  as  usual,  and  left  the  young  tutor  at 
the  other  side  of  the  table  sitting  in  a  kind  of 
stupefied  amazement  and  mortification  in  the 
silence,  wondering  what  he  came  here  for, 
and  where  his  hopes  and  brilliant  auguries 


had  gone  to.  Perhaps  Colin  did  not  know 
what  he  himself  meant  when  he  accepted  Sir 
Thomas  Frankland "s  proposal.  He  thought 
he  was  coming  to  live  in  Matty's  society  ;  to 
be  her  companion  ;  to  walk  with  her  and  talk 
with  her,  as  he  had  done  at  Ardmartin  ;  but, 
when  he  arrived  to  find  Wodensbourne  de- 
serted, with  nothing  to  be  seen  but  Sir  Thom- 
ae  and  a  nursery  governess,  who  sometimes 
emerged  with  her  little  pupils  from  the  un- 
known regions  up-staira,  and  was  very  civil  to 
the  new  tutor,  Colin's  disappointment  was 
overwhelming.  He  despised  himself  with  a 
bitterness  only  to  be  equalled  by  the  brilliancy 
of  those  vain  expectations  over  which  he 
laughed  in  youthful  rage  and  scorn.  It  was 
not  to  be  Matty's  companion  he  had  come ; 
it  was  not  to  see,  however  far  off,  any  portion 
of  the  great  world  which  he  could  not  help 
imagining  sometimes  must  be  visible  from 
such  an  elevation.  It  was  only  to  train  Char- 
ley's precocious  intellect,  and  amuse  the  bar- 
onet a  little  at  dinner.  After  dinner,  Sir 
Thomas  went  to  sleep,  and  even  Charley  was 
out  of  the  way,  and  the  short,  winter  days 
closed  down  early  over  the  great  house,  on 
the  damp  woods  and  silent  park,  which  kept 
repeating  themselves,  day  by  day,  upon  Co- 
lin's wearied  .brain.  There  was  not  even  an 
undulation  within  sight,  nothing  higher  than 
the  dull  line  of  trees,  which  after  a  while  it 
made  him  sick  to  look  at.  To  be  sure,  the 
sunshine  now  and  then  caught  upon  the  lofty 
lantern  of  Earie  Cathedral,  and  by  that  means 
woke  up  a  gleam  of  light  on  the  flat  c^^y ; 
but  that,  and  the  daily  conflict  with  Cj^H^r's 
sharp  invalid  understanding,  and  the  S^^of 
Sir  Thomas  sleeping  after  dinner,  conveyed  no 
exhilaration  to  speak  of  to  lighten  the  dismal 
revulsion  of  poor  Colin's  thoughts.  His  heart 
rose  indignant  sometimes,  which  did  him  more 
good.  This  was  the  gulf  of  dismay  he  tum- 
bled into  without  defence  or  preparation  after 
the  burst  of  hope  and  foolish  youthful  delight 
with  which  he  left  Ramore. 

As  for  the  society  at  Wodensbourne,  it  was 
at  the  present  moment  of  the  most  limited 
description.  Colin,  who  was  inexperienced, 
roused  up  out  of  his  dulness  a  little  when  he 
heard  that  two  of  the  canons  of  Earie  were 
coming  to  dinner  one  evening.  The  innocent 
Scotch  lad  woke  himself  up,  with  a  little  cu- 
riosity about  the  clerical  dignitaries,  of  whom 
he  knew  nothing,  and  a  good  deal  of  anxiety 
to  comport  himself  as  became  the  rcprcsenta- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


tive  of  a  Scotch  univerBity,  about  ■whom  he 
did  not  doubt  the  visitors  would  be  a  little 
curious.  It  struck  Colin  with  the  oddest  sur- 
prise and  disappointment,  to  find  that  the 
canons  of  Earie  were  perfectly  indiflerent 
about  the  Scotch  student.  The  curate  of  the 
parish,  indeed,  w^ho  was  also  dining  at  Wo- 
densbourne  that  day,  was  wonderfully  civil 
to  the.new  tutor.  He  told  him  that  he  un- 
derstood the  Scotch  mountains  were  very  near 
as  fine  as  Switzerland,  and  that  he  hoped  to 
see  them  some  day,  though  the  curious  preju- 
dices about  Sunday  and  the  whiskey-drinking 
must  come  very  much  in  the  way  of  closer  in- 
tercourse ;  at  which  speech  Colin's  indigna- 
tion and  amusement  would  have  been  wonder- 
ful to  see,  had  any  one  been  there  who  cared 
to  notice  how  the  lad  was  looking.  On  the 
Sundays,  Colin  and  his  pupil  went  along  the 
level  ways  to  the  quaint  old  mossy  church, 
to  which  this  same  curate  was  devoting  all 
his  time  and  thoughts  by  way  of  restoration. 
The  Scotch  youth  had  never  seen  anything 
at  once  so  homely  and  so  noble  as  this  little 
church  in  the  fen-country.  He  thought  it 
nothing  less  than  a  poem  in  stone,  a  pathetic 
old  psalm  of  human  life  and  death,  uttering 
itself  for  ever  and  ever,  in  the  tenderest,  sad 
responses,  to  the  worship  of  heaven.  Never 
anywhere  had  he  felt  so  clearly  how  the  dead 
were  waiting  for  the  great  Easter  to  come, 
nor  seen  Christianity  standing  so  plainly  be- 
tween the  two  comings;  but  when  Colin, 
with  his  Scotch  ideas,  heard  the  curious  little 
sermons  to  which  his  curate  gave  utterance 
unde^Mkt  roof,  all  consecrated  and  holy  with 
tlie  BO^ws  and  hopes  of  ages,  it  made  the 
strangest  anti-climas  in  the  youth's  thoughts. 
He  laughed  to  himself  vd^en  he  came  out,  not 
because  he  was  disposed  to  laughter,  but  be- 
cause it  was  the  only  alternative  he  had  ;  and 
Sir  Thomas,  who  had  a  glimmering  perception 
that  this  must  be  something  new  to  his  inex- 
perienced guest,  gave  a  doubtful  sort  of  smile, 
not  knowing  how  to  take  Colin's  strange 
looks. 

"  You  don't  believe  in  saints'  days,  and 
such-like,  in  Scotland  ?  "  said  the  perplexed 
baronet ;  "  and  of  course  the  sermon  does  not 
count  for  so  much  with  us." 

"  No,"  said  Colin ;  and  they  did  not  enter 
further  into  the  subject. 

As  for  the  young  man  himself,  who  had 
still  upon  his  mind  the  feeling  that  he  was  to 
be  a  Scotch  minister,  the  lesson  was  thestran- 


61 

gest  possible ;  for,  being  Scotch,  he  could  not 
help  listening  to  the  sermon  according  to  the 
usage  of  his  nation.  The  curate,  after  he 
had  said  those  passages  which  are  all  but  di- 
vine in  their  comprehension  of  the  wants  of 
humanity,  told  his  people  how  wonderfully 
their  beloved  Church  had  provided  for  all  their 
wants  ;  how  sweet  it  was  to  recollect  that  this 

'  was  the  day  which  had  teen  appointed  the 
Twentieth  Sunday  after  Trinity,  and  how  it 
was  their  duty  to  meditate  a  fact  so  touching 
and  so  important.  Colin  thought  of  the  Holy 
Loch,  and  the  minister's  critics  there,  and 

J  laughed  to  himself,  perhaps  a  little  bitterly. 

j  He  felt  as  if  he  had  given  up  his  own  career, 
— the  natural  life  to  which  he  was  born, — and 

I  at  this  distance  the  usual  enchantments  of 
nature  began  to  work,  and  in  his  heart  he 
asked  himself  what  he  was  to  gain  by  trans- 
ferring his  heart  and  hopes  to  this  wealthier 
country,  where  so  many  things  were  fairer, 
and  after  which  he  had  been  hankering  so 
long.  The  curate's  sermons  struck  him  as  a 
kind  of  comical  climax  to  his  disappointments, 
— the  curate  who  looked  at  himself  much  as 
he  might  have  looked  at  a  South-Sea  Islander, 
and  spoke  of  the  Scotch  whiskey  and  Scotch 
Sabbaths.  Poor  curate  !  He  knew  a  great 
deal  more  than  Colin  did  about  some  things, 
and  if  he  did  not  understand  how  to  preach, 
that  was  not  the  fault  of  his  college  ;  neither 
did  they  convey  much  information  at  that  seat 
of  learning  about  the  northern  half  of  the 
British  island — no  more  than  they  did  at 
Glasgow  about  the  curious  specimen  of  hu- 
manity which  is  known  as  a  curate  on  the 
brighter  side  of  the  Tweed. 

All  these  things  went  through  Colin's  mind 
as  he  sat  in  the  dining-room  after  dinner,  con- 
templating Sir  Thomas's  nap,  which  was  not 
of  itself  an  elevating  spectacle.  He  thought 
to  himself  at  that  moment  that  he  was  but 
fulfilling  the  ofiice  of  a  drudge  at  Wodens- 
bourne,  which  anybody  could  fill.  It  did  not 
require  those  abilities  which  had  won  with 
acclamation  the  prize  in  the  philosophy  class 
to  teach  Charley  Frankland  the  elements  of 
science ;  and  all  the  emulations  and  glories 
of  his  college  career  came  back  to  Colin's 
mind.  The  little  public  of  the  university 
had  begun  to  think  of  him  ;  to  predict  what 
he  would  do,  and  anticipate  his  success  at 
home ;  but  here,  who  knew  anything  about 
him  ?  All  these  thoughts  came  to  rapid  con- 
clusions as  the  young  man  sat  watching  the 


62 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


fire  gleam  in  the  wainscot,  and  calculating  the 
recurrence  of  tbat  next  great  snore  which 
would  wake  Sir  Thomas,  and  make  him  eit 
up  of  a  sudden  and  look  fiercely  at  his  com- 
panion before  he  murmured  out  a  "  Beg  your 
pardon,"  and  went  to  sleep  again.  Not  an 
interesting  prospect  certainly.  Should  he  go 
home  ?  Should  he  represent  to  the  baronet, 
when  he  woke  up  for  the  night,  that  it  had 
all  been  a  mistake,  and  that  his  present  office 
was  perfectly  unsuited  to  his  ambition  and 
his  hopes?  But  then  what  could  he  say?  for 
after  all,  it  was  as  Charley  Frankland's  tutor 
simply,  and  with  his  eyes  open,  that  became 
to  Wodcnsbourne,  and  Sir  Thomas  had  said 
nothing  about  the  society  of  his  niece,  or  any 
other  society,  to  tempt  him  thither.  Colin 
sat  in  a  bitterness  of  discontent,  which  would 
have  been  incredible  to  him  a  few  weeks  be- 
fore, pondering  these  questions.  There  was 
not  a  sound  to  be  heard,  but  the  dropping  of 
the  ashes  on  the  hearth,  and  Sir  Thomas's 
heavy  breathing  as  he  slept.  Life  went  on 
velvet  slippers  in  the  great  house  from  which 
Colin  would  gladly  have  escaped  (he  thought) 
to  the  poorest  cottage  on  the  Holy  Loch.  He 
could  not  help  recalling  his  shabby  little  room 
in  Glasgow,  and  Lauderdale's  long  comments 
upon  life,  and  all  the  talk  and  the  thoughts 
that  made  existence  bright  in  that  miserable 
little  place,  which  Sir  Thomas  Frankland's 
grooms  would  not  have  condescended  to  live 
in,  but  which  the  unfortunate  young  tutor 
thought  of  with  longings  as  he  sat  dreary  in 
the  great  dining-room.  What  did  it  matter 
to  him  that  the  floor  was  soft  with  Turkey 
carpets,  that  the  wine  on  the  table  was  of  the 
most  renowned  vintages,  and  that  his  slum- 
bering companion  in  the  great  easy-chair  was 
the  head  of  one  of  the  oldest  commoner  fami- 
lies in  England, — a  baronet  and  a  county 
member?  Colin,  after  all,  was  only  a  son  of 
the  soil ;  he  longed  for  his  Glasgow  attic,  and 
his  companions  who  spoke  the  dialect  of  that 
remarkable  but  unlovely  city,  and  felt  bit- 
terly in  his  heart  that  he  had  been  cheated. 
Yet  it  was  hard  to  say  to  any  one — hard  even 
to  put  in  words  to  himsclf^what  the  cheat 
was.  It  was  a  deception  he  had  practised  on 
himself,  and  in  the  bitterness  of  his  disap- 
pointment the  youth  refused  to  say  to  him- 
self that  anybody's  absence  was  the  secret 
of  his  mortification.  What  was  she  to  him? 
— a  great  lady  as  far  out  of  his  reach  as  the 


I  moon  or  the  stars,  and  who  no  doubt  had  for- 
gotten his  very  name. 

;  These  were  not  pleasant  thoughts  to  season 
[  the  solitude ;  and  he  sat  hugging  them  for 
a  great  many  evenings  before  Sir  Thomas 
^  awoke,  and  addressed,  as  he  generally  did,  a 
few  good-humored,  stupid  observations  to 
the  lad  whom,  to  be  sure,  the  baronet  Ibund  a 
considerable  bore,  and  did  not  know  what  to 
j  do  with.  Sir  Thomas  could  not  forget  his 
:  obligations  to  the  young  man  who  saved 
\  Harry's  life ;  and  thus  it  was,  from  pure 
\  gratitude,  that  he  made  Colin  miserable, — 
though  there  was  no  gratitude  at  all,  nor 
even  much  respect,  in  the  summary  judgment 
which  the  youth  formed  of  the  heavy  squire. 
This  was  how  matters  were  going  on  when 
Wodcnsbourne  and  the  world,  and  everything 
human,  suddenly,  all  at  once,  sustained  again 
a  change  to  Colin.  He  had  been  thus,  for 
six  weary  weeks, — during  which  time  he  felt 
I  himself  getting  morose,  ill-tempered,  and 
1  miserable,  writing  sharp  letters  home,  in 
I  which  he  would  not  confess  to  any  special 
disappointment,  but  expressed  himself  in  gen- 
eral terms  of  bitterness  like  a  young  misan- 
thrope, and  in  every  respect  making  himself 
and  those  who  cared  for  him  unhappy.  Even 
the  verses,  which  did  very  well  to  express  the 
tender  griefs  of  sentiment,  had  been  thrown 
aside  at  this  crisis  ;  for  there  was  nothing 
melodious  in  his  feelings,  and  he  could  not  say 
in  sweet  rhymes  and  musical  cadences  how 
angry  and  wretched  he  was.  He  was  sitting 
so  one  dreary  December  evening  when  it  was 
raining  fast  outside  and  everything  vdH^ilent 
within — as  was  natural  in  a  wcll-regnlated 
household  where  the  servants  knew  their 
duty,  and  the  nursajy  was  half  a  mile  away 
through  worlds  of  complicated  passages.  Sir 
Thomas  was  asleep  as  usual,  and,  with  his 
eyes  shut  and  his  mouth  open,  the  excellent 
baronet  was  not,  as  we  have  already  said,  an 
elevating  spectacle  ;  and  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table,  sat  Colin,  chafing  out  his  young 
soul  with  such  thoughts  of  what  was  not, 
but  might  have  been,  as  youth  does  not  know 
how  to  avoid.  It  was  just  then,  when  he  was 
going  over  his  long  succession  of  miseries — 
and  thinking  of  his  natural  career  cut  short 
for  this  dreary  penance  of  which  nothing 
could  ever  come — that  Colin  was  startled  by 
the  sound  of  wheels  coming  up  the  wintry 
avenue.     He  could  not  venture  to  imagine 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


to  himself  what  it  might  be,  though  he  lis- 
tened as  if  for  life  and  death,  and  heard  the 
Bounds  of  an  arrival  and  the  indistinct  hum 
of  voices  which  he  could  not  distinguish, 
without  feeling  that  he  had  any  right  to  stir 
from  the  table  to  inquire  what  it  meant ;  and 
there  he  eat  accordingly,  with  his  hair  thrust 
back  from  his  forehead  and  his  great  eyes 
gleaming  out  from  the  noiseless  atmosphere, 
when  the  door  opened  and  a  pretty  figure, 
all  eager  and  glowing  with  life,  looked  into 
the  room.  Colin  was  too  much  absorbed, 
too  anxious,  ?ind  felt  too  deeply  how  much 
was  involved  for  himself  to  be  capable  even 
of  rising  up  to  greet  her  as  an  indifferent 
man  would  have  done.  He  sat  and  gazed  at 
her  as  she  darted  in  like  a  fairy  creature, 
bringing  every  kind  of  radiance  in  her  train. 
"  Here  they  are,  aunty  !  "  cried  Miss  Matty  ; 
and  she  came  in  flying  in  her  cloak,  with  the 
hood  still  over  her  head  and  great  rain-drops 
on  it,  which  she  had  caught  as  she  jumped 
out  of  the  carriage.  While  Colin  sat  gazing 
at  her,  wondering  if  it  were  some  deluding 
apparition,  or,  in  reality,  the  new  revelation 
of  life  and  love  that  it  seemed  to  be,  Matty 
had  thrown  herself  upon  Sir  Thomas  and 
woke  the  worthy  baronet  by  kissing  him, 
which  was  a  pretty  sight  to  behold.  "  Here 
we  are,  uncle ;  wake  up !  "  cried  Matty  ; 
"  my  lady  ran  to  the  nursery  first,  but  I  came 
to  you,  as  I  always  do."  And  the  little  witch 
looked  up  with  a  gleam  at  Colin,  under  which 
heaven  and  earth  changed  to  the  lad.  He 
stumbled  to  his  feet,  while  Sir  Thomas  rubbed 
his  ^jdlftiished  eyes.  What  could  Colin  say? 
He  stiSB'd  waiting  for  a  word,  seeing  the  little 
figure  in  a  halo  of  light  and  fanciful  glory. 
* '  How  do  you  do  ?  f  knew  you  were 
here,"  eaid  Miss  Matty,  putting  out  two  fin-, 
gers  to  him  while  she  still  hung  over  her 
uncle.  And  presently  Lady  Frankland  came 
in,  and  the  room  became  full  of  pleasant  din 
and  commotion,  as  was  inevitable.  When 
Colin  made  a  move  as  if  to  leave  them,  fear- 
ful of  being  in  the  way,  as  the  sensitive  lad 
naturally  was,  Miss  Matty  called  to  him, 
"  Oh,  don't  go,  please ;  we  are  going  to  have 
tea,  and  my  lady  must  be  served  without 
giving  her  any  trouble,  and  I  want  you  to 
help  me,"  said  Matty;  and  so  the  evening 
that  had  begun  in  gloom  ended  in  a  kind  of 
subdued  glory  too  sweet  to  be  real.  Lady 
Frankland  sat  talking  to  her  husband  of 
their  reason  for  coming  back  so  suddenly 


63 

(which  was  sad  enough,  being  an  unexpected 
death  in  the  house :  but  that  did  not  make 
much  difference  to  the  two  women  who  were 
coming  home)  ;  Matty  kept  coming  and  go- 
ing between  the  tea-table  and  the  fire,  send- 
ing Colin  on  all  sorts  of  errands,  and  making 
comments  to  him  aside  on  what  her  aunt  was 
saying. 

"Only  fancy  the  long,  dreary  drive  we 
have  had,  and  my  uncle  and  Mr.  Campbell 
making  themselves  so  cosy,"  the  little  siren 
said,  kneeling  down  before  the  fire  with  still 
one  drop  of  rain  sparkling  on  her  bright 
locks.  And  the  effect  was  such  that  Colin 
lost  himself  altogether,  and  could  not  have 
affirmed,  had  he  been  questioned  on  his  oath, 
that  he  had  not  enjoyed  himself  greatly  all 
the  evening.  He  took  Lady  Frankland  her 
tea,  and  listened  to  all  the  domestic  chatter 
as  if  it  had  been  the  talk  of  angels  ;  and  was 
as  pleased,  when  the  mistress  of  the  house 
thanked  him  for  his  kindness  to  Charley,  as 
if  he  had  not  thought  Charley  a  wretched 
little  nuisance  a  few  hours  ago.  He  did  not 
in  the  least  know  who  the  people  were  about 
whom  the  two  ladies  kept  ifp  such  an  unceas- 
ing talk,  and,  perhaps,  under  other  circum- 
stances would  have  laughed  at  this  sweet- 
coined  gossip,  with  all  its  lively  comments 
upon  nothing  and  incessant  personalities ; 
but,  at  the  present  moment,  Colin  had  said 
good-by  to  reason,  and  could  not  anyhow 
defend  himself  against  the  sudden  happiness 
which  seized  upon  him  without  any  notice. 
While  Sir  Thomas  and  his  wife  sat  on  either 
side  of  the  great  tire,  and  Jlatty  kept  darting 
in  and  out  between  them,  Colin  sat  behind 
near  the  impromptu  tea-table,  and  listened 
and  felt  that  the  world  was  changed.  If  he 
could  have  had  time  to  think,  he  might  have 
been  ashamed  of  himself,  but  then  he  had  no 
time  to  think,  and  in  the  mean  time  he  was 
happy,  a  sensation  not  to  be  gainsaid  or  re- 
jected ;  and  so  fled  the  few  blessed  hours  of 
the  first  evening  of  Matty's  return. 

When  he  had  gone  up-stairs,  and  had  heard 
at  a  distance  the  sound  of  the  last  good-night, 
and  was  fairly  shut  up  again  in  the  silence 
of  his  own  room,  the  youth,  for  the  first  time, 
began  to  realize  what  he  was  doing.  He 
paused,  with  a  little  consternation,  a  little 
fright,  to  question  himself.  For  the  first 
time,  he  saw  clearly,  without  any  possibility 
of  self-delusion,  what  it  was  which  had 
brought  him  here,  and  which  made  all  the 


64 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


difference  to  him  between  happiness  and 
misery.  It  was  hard  to  realize  now  the 
state  of  mind  he  had  been  in  a  few  hours  be- 
fore ;  but  he  did  it,  by  dint  of  a  great  exer- 
'tion,  and  saw,  with  a  distinctness  which 
alarmed  him,  how  it  was  that  everything 
had  altered  in  his  eyes.  It  was  Matty's 
presence  that  made  all  the  difference  between 
this  subdued  thrill  of  happiness  and  that 
blank  of  impatient  and  mortified  misery. 
The  young  man  tried  to  stand  still  and  con- 
sider the  reality  of  his  position.  He  had 
stopped  in  his  career,  arrested  himself  in  his 
life  ;  entered  upon  a  species  of  existence 
which  he  felt  in  his  heart  was  not  more,  but 
less,  noble  (for  him)  than  his  previous  course. 
And  what  was  it  for?  All  for  the  uncer- 
tain smile,  for  the  society — which  might  fail 
him  any  time — of  a  woman  so  far  out  of  his 
way,  so  utterly  removed  from  his  reach,  as 
Matilda  Frankland?  For  a  moment,  the 
youth  was  dismayed,  and  stopped  short, 
"Wisdom  and  Truth  whispering  in  his  ear. 
Love  might  be  fair,  but  he  knew  enough  to 
know  that  life  must  not  be  subservient  to : 
that  witchery  ;  and  Colin 's  good  angel  spoke  | 
to  him  in  the  silence,  and  bade  him  flee.  ' 
Better  to  go  back,  and  at  once,  to  the  gray  j 
and  sombre  world,  where  all  his  duties ' 
awaited  him,  than  to  stay  here  in  this  fool's  ; 
paradise.  As  he  thought  so,  he  got  up,  and 
began  to  pace  about  his  room,  as  though  it  j 
had  been  a  cage.  Best  to  flee  ;  it  might  hide 
all  the  light  out  of  his  life  and  break  his  i 
heart ;  but  what  else  had  he  to  look  for  sooner 
or  later  ?  He  sat  up  half  the  night,  still ; 
pacing  about  his  room,  hesitating  upon  his 
fate,  while  the  December  storm  raged  out- 
eide.  What  was  he  to  do  ?  When  he  dropped  , 
to  sleep  at  last,  his  heart  betrayed  him,  and  ! 
strayed  away  into  celestial  worlds  of  dream-  j 
ing.  He  woke,  still  undecided,  as  he  thought,  ' 
to  see  the  earliest  wintry  gleam  of  sunshine 
stealing  in  through  his  shutters.  What  was 
he  to  do?  But  already  the  daylight  made 
him  feel  his  terrors  as  so  many  shadows.  | 
His  heart  was  a  traitor,  and  he  was  glad  to  j 
find  it  so,  and  the  moment  of  indecision  set-  ! 
tied  more  surely  than  ever  the  bondage  in 
which  he  seemed  to  have  entangled  his  life. 

CHAPTER   XT. 

From  that  day  life  flew  upon  celestial  wings 
for  Charley  Frankland's  tutor.  It  was  not 
that  any  love-making  proved  possible,  or  that 


existence  at  Wodensboume  became  at  all 
what  it  had  been  at  Ardmartin.  The  diifer- 
ence  was  in  the  atmosphere,  which  was  now 
bright  with  all  kinds  of  gladsome  cliarms, 
and  pervaded  by  anticipations — a  charm 
which,  at  Colin 's  age,  was  more  than  reality, 
lie  never  knew  what  moment  of  delight 
might  come  to  him  any  day — what  words 
might  be  said,  or  smiles  shed  upon  him. 
Such  an  enchantment  could  not,  indeed,  have 
lasted  very  long,  but,  in  the  mean  time,  was 
infinitely  sweet,  and  made  his  life  like  a  ro- 
mance to  the  young  man.  There  was  no- 
body at  Wodensbourne  to  occupy  Miss  Matty, 
or  withdraw  her  attention  from  her  young 
worshipper  ;  and  Colin,  with  his  poetic  tem- 
perament and  his  youthful  genius,  and  all 
the  simplicities  and  inexperience  which  ren- 
dered him  80  different  from  the  other  clever 
young  men  who  had  been  seen  or  heard  of  in 
that  region,  was  very  delightful  company, 
even  when  he  was  not  engaged  in  any  acts 
of  worship.  Lady  Frankland  herself  ac- 
knowledged that  Mr.  Campbell  was  a  great 
acquisition.  "  He  is  not  the  least  like  other 
people,"  said  the  lady  of  the  house;  "but 
you  must  take  care  not  to  let  him  fall  in  love 
with  you,  Matty ; "  and  both  the  ladies 
laughed  softly  as  they  sat  over  their  cups  of 
tea.  As  for  Matty,  when  she  went  to  dreea 
for  dinner,  after  that  admonition,  she  put  on 
tartan  ribbons  over  her  white  dress,  partly, 
to  be  sure,  because  they  were  in  the  fashion  ; 
but  chiefly  to  please  Colin,  who  knew  rather 
less  about  tartan  than  she  did,  and  had  not 
the  remotest  idea  that  the  many-coloMd  Bash 
had  any  reference  to  himself. 

"  I  love  Scotland,"  the  little  witch  said  to 
him  when  he  came  into  the  drawing-room,  to 
which  he  was  now  admitted  during  Sir 
Thomas's  nap, — and,  to  tell  the  truth.  Lady 
Frankland  herself  had  just  closed  her  eyes 
in  a  gentle  doze,  in  her  easy-chair, — "but, 
though  you  are  a  Scotchman,  you  don't  take 
the  least  notice  of  my  ribbons ;  I  am  very 
fond  of  Scotland,"  said  Matty,  "and  the 
Scotch,"  the  wicked  little  girl  added,  with  a 
glance  at  him,  which  made  Colin's  heart 
leap  in  his  deluded  breast. 

"  Then  I  am  very  glad  to  be  Scotch,"  said 
the  youth,  and  stooped  down  over  the  end  of 
the  sash  till  Matty  thought  he  meant  to  kiss 
it,  which  was  a  more  decided  act  of  homage 
than  it  would  be  expedient,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, to  permit. 


A    SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 


65 


"Don't  talk  like  everybody  else,"  said 
Miss  Matty  ;  "  that  does  not  make  any  dif- 
ference ;  you  -vrere  always  glad  to  be  Scotch. 
I  know  you  all  think  you  are  so  much  better 
and  cleverer  than  we  are  in  England.  But, 
tell  me,  do  you  still  mean  to  be  a  Scotch  min- 
ister ?  I  wish  you  would  not,"  said  Matty, 
with  a  little  pout.  And  then  Colin  laughed, 
half  with  pleasure  at  what  he  thought  her 
interest  in  him,  and  half  with  a  sense  of  the 
ludicrous  which  he  could  not  restrain. 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  preach  about  the 
Twentieth  Sunday  after  Trinity,"  he  said 
with  a  smile ;  which  was  a  speech  Miss 
Matty  did  not  understand. 

"  People  here  don't  preach  as  you  do  in 
Scotland,"  said  the  English  girl,  with  a  little 
offence.  "You  are  always  preaching,  and 
that  is  what  renders  it  so  dull.  But  what 
is  the  good  of  being  a  minister?  There  are 
plenty  of  dull  people  to  be  ministers  ;  you  are 
so  clever" — 

"Am  I  clever?"  said  Colin.  "  I  am 
Charley's  tutor  ;  it  does  not  require  a  great 
deal  of  genius — "  but  while  he  spoke,  the 
eyes— which  Matty  did  not  comprehend, 
which  always  went  leagues  further  than  one 
could  see — kindled  up  a  little.  He  looked 
a  long  way  past  her,  and  no  doubt  he  saw 
something  ;  but  it  piqued  her  a  little  not  to 
be  able  to  follow  him,  nor  to  search  out 
what  he  meant. 

"  If  you  had  done  what  I  wished,  and  gone 
to  Oxford,  Campbell,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  whose 
repose  had  been  interrupted  earlier  than 
usuali  "  I  can't  say  much  about  what  I  could 
have  done  myself,  for  I  have  heaps  of  boys  of 
my  own  to  provide  for ;  but,  if  you're  bent 
on  going  into  the  Church,  something  would 
certainly  have  turned  up  for  you.  I  don't  say 
there's  much  of  a  course  in  the  Church  for  an 
ambitious  young  fellow,  but  still,  if  you  do 
work  well  and  have,  a  few  friends —  As  for 
your  Scotch  Church,  I  don't  know  very  much 
about  it,"  said  the  baronet,  candidly.  "  I 
never  knew  any  one  who  did.  "What  a  bore 
it  used  to  be  a  dozen  years  ago,  when  there 
was  all  that  row  ;  and  now,  I  suppose,  you're 
all  at  sixes  and  sevens  ;  aint  you  ?  ' '  asked  the 
ingenuous  legislator.  "I  suppose  whiskey 
and  controversy  go  together  somehow."  Sir 
Thomas  got  himself  perched  into  the  corner 
of  a  sofa  very  comfortably,  as  he  spoke,  and 
took  no  notice  of  the  lightning  in  Colin's 
eyes. 

5 


"Oh,  uncle!  don't!"  said  Miss  Matty; 
"  didn't  you  know  that  the  Presbyterians  are 
all  going  to  give  up  and  join  the  Church  ?  and 
it's  all  to  be  the  same  both  in  England  and 
Scotland?  You  need  not  laugh.  I  assure 
you  I  know  quite  well  what  I  am  saying," 
said  the  little/beauty,  with  a  look  of  dignity. 
"  I  have  seen  it  in  the  papers — such  funny 
papers  I — with  little  paragraphs  about  acci- 
dents, and  about  people  getting  silver  snuff- 
boxes ! — but  all  the  same,  they  say  what  I 
tell  you.  There's  to  be  no  Presbyterians  and 
no  precentors,  and  none  of  their  wicked  ways, 
coming  into  church  with  their  hats  on,  and  star- 
ing all  round  instead  of  saying  their  prayers ; 
and  all  the  ministers  are  to  be  made  into  cler- 
gymen,— priests  and  deacons,  you  know  ;  and 
they  are  going  to  have  bishops  and  proper 
service  like  other  people.  Mr.  Campbell," 
said  Matty,  looking  up  at  him  with  a  little 
emphasis,  to  mark  that,  for  once,  she  was  call- 
ing him  formally  by  his  name,  "  knows  it  is 
quite  true." 

"Humph,"  said  Sir  Thomas.  "I  know 
better  ;  I  know  how  Campbell,  there,  looked 
the  other  day  when  he  came  out  of  church. 
I  know  the  Scotch  and  their  ways  of  think- 
ing. Go  and  make  the  tea  and  don't  talk  of 
what  you  don't  understand.  But  as  for  you, 
Campbell,  if  you  have  a  mind  for  the  university 
and  to  go  in  for  the  Church  " — 

But  this  was  more  than  Colin,  being  twenty 
and  a  Scotchman,  could  bear. 

"I  am  going  in  for  the  Church,"  said  the 
lad,  doing  all  he  could  to  keep  down  the  ex- 
citement at  which  Sir  Thomas  would  have 
laughed  ;  "but  it  did  not  in  the  least  touch 
my  heart  the  other  day  to  know  that  it  was 
the  Twentieth  Sunday  after  Trinity.  Devo- 
tion is  a  great  matter, ' '  said  the  young  Scotch- 
man .  "I  grant  you  have  the  advantage  over 
us  there  ;  but  it  would  not  do  in  Scotland  to 
preach  about  the  Church's  goodness,  and 
what  she  had  appointed  for  such  or  such  a 
day.  We  j^reach  very  stupid  sermons,  I  dare 
say  ;  but  at  least  we  mean  to  teach  somebody 
something— what  God  looks  for  at  their  hands, 
or  what  they  may  look  for  at  his.  It  is  more 
an  occupation  for  a  man,"  cried  the  young 
revolutionary,  "  than  reading  the  sublimest 
of  prayers.  I  am  going  in  for  the  Church; 
but  it  is  the  Church  of  Scotland,"  said  Colin. 
He  drew  himself  up  with  a  grand  youthful 
dignity,  which  was  much  lost  on  Sir  Thomas, 
who,  for  his  part,  looked  at  his  new  tutor 


66 

■with  eyes  of  sober  wonderment,  and  did  not 
understand  what  this  emotion  meant. 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  excitement," 
said  tlic  baronet;  "nobody  nowadays  med- 
dles with  a  man's  convictions  ;  indeed,  Harry 
would  say,  it's  a  great  thing  to  have  any  con- 
victions. That  is  how  the  young  men  talk 
nowadays,"  said  Sir  Thomas;  and  he  moved 
oflf  the  sofa  again,  and  yawned,  though  not 
uncivilly.  As  for  Miss  Matty,  she  came  steal- 
ing up  when  she  had  made  the  tea,  with  her 
cup  in  her  hand. 

"  So  you  do  mean  to  be  a  minister?  "  she 
said,  in  a  half-whisper,  with  a  deprecating 
look.  Lady  Frankland  had  roused  up,  like 
her  husband,  and  the  two  were  talking,  and 
did  not  take  any  notice  of  Matty's  proceedings 
with  the  harmless  tutor.  The  young  lady 
was  quite  free  to  play  with  her  mouse  a  little, 
and  entered  upon  the  amusement  with  zest, 
as  was  natural.  "  You  mean  to  shut  your- 
self up  in  a  square  house,  with  five  windows, 
like  the  poor  gentleman  who  has  such  red  hair, 
and  never  see  anybody  but  the  old  women  in 
the  parish,  and  have  your  life  made  misera- 
ble every  Sunday  by  that  precentor." 

"  I  hope  I  have  a  soul  above  precentors," 
Bvid  Colin,  with  a  little  laugh,  which  was  un- 
steady still,  however,  with  a  little  excitement ; 
"  and  one  might  mend  all  that,"  he  added  a 
minute  after,  looking  at  her  with  a  kind  of 
wistful  inquiry  which  he  could  not  have  put 
into  words.  What  was  it  he  meant  to  ask 
with  his  anxious  eye?  But  he  did  not  him- 
self know. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Matty,  "  I  know  what  you 
would  do  :  you  would  marry  somebody  who 
was  musical,  and  get  a  little  organ  and  teach 
the  people  better  ;  I  know  exactly  what  you 
would  do,"  said  the  young  lady,  with  a  piquant 
little  touch  of  spite,  and  a  look  that  startled 
Colin;  and  then  she  paused,  and  hung  her 
iead  for  a  moment  and  blushed,  or  looked  as 
if  she  blushed.  "  But  you  would  not?  "  said 
Matty,  softly,  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  her 
victim.  "  Don't  marry  anybody  ;  no  one  is 
any  good  after  that.  I  don't  approve  of  mar- 
rying, for  my  part,  especially  for  a  priest. 
Priests  should  always  be  detached,  you  know, 
from  the  world." 

"  Why?  "  said  Colin.  He  was  quite  con- 
tent to  go  on  talking  on  such  a  subject  for 
any  length  of  time.  "  As  for  marrying,  it  is 
only  your  rich  squii'cs  and  great  people  who 
can  marry  when  they  please ;  wc  who  have 


A    SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 


to  make  our  own  way  in  the  world  " —  said 
the  young  man,  with  a  touch  of  grandeur, 
but  was  stopped  by  Miss  Matty's  sudden 
laughter. 

"Oh,  how  simple  you  are!  As  if  rich 
squires  and  great  people,  as  you  say,  could 
marry  when  they  pleased — as  if  any  man 
could  marry  when  he  pleased!  "  cried  Miss 
IMatty,  scornfully.  "  After  all,  we  do  count 
for  something,  we  poor  women;  now  and 
then,  we  can  put  even  an  eldest  son  out  in  his 
calculations.  It  is  great  fun  too,"  said  the 
young  lady,  and  she  laughed,  and  so  did  Colin, 
who  could  not  help  wondering  what  special 
case  she  might  have  in  her  eye,  and  listened 
with  all  the  eagerness  of  a  lover.  "  There  is 
poor  Harry,  "  said  Miss  Matty  under  her 
breath,  and  stopped  short  and  laughed  to  her- 
self and  sipped  her  tea,  while  Colin  lent  an 
anxious  car.  But  nothing  further  followed 
that  soft  laughter.  Colin  sat  on  thorns,  gaz- 
ing at  her  with  a  world  of  questions  in  his 
face  ;  but  the  siren  looked  at  him  no  more. 
Poor  Harry  !  Harry's  natural  rival  was  sen- 
sible of  a  thrill  of  jealous  curiosity  mingled 
with  anxiety.  What  had  she  done  to  Harry  ? 
— this  witch  who  had  beguiled  Colin — or  was 
it,  not  she  who  had  done  anything  to  him, 
but  some  other  as  pretty  and  as  mischievous? 
Colin  had  no  clew  to  the  puzzle  ;  but  it  gave 
him  a  new  access  of  half-conscious  enmity  to 
the  heir  of  Wodcnsbourne. 

After  that  talk,  there  elapsed  a  few  days 
during  which  Colin  saw  but  little  of  Matty, 
who  had  visits  to  pay,  and  some  solemn  din- 
ner-parties to  attend  in  Lady  Frankland 's 
train.  He  had  to  spend  the  evenings  by 
himself  on  these  occasions  after  dining  with 
Charley,  who  was  not  a  very  agreeable  com- 
panion ;  and  when  this  invalid  went  to  his 
room,  as  he  did  early,  the  young  tutor  found 
himself  desolate  enough  in  the  great  house, 
where  no  human  bond  existed  between  him 
and  the  little  community  within  its  walls. 
He  was  not  in  a  state  of  mind  to  take  kindly 
to  abstract  study  at  that  moment  of  his  ex- 
istence ;  for  Colin  had  passed  out  of  that  un- 
conscious stage  in  which  he  had  been  at  Ard- 
martin.  Then,  however  much  he  had  wished 
to  be  out  of  temptation,  he  could  not  help 
himself,  which  was  a  wonderful  consolation  ; 
but  now  he  had  come  wilfully  and  know- 
ingly into  the  danger,  and  had  become 
aware  of  the  foct  and,  far  more  distinctly 
than  ever  before,  of  the  difference  between 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


himself  and  the  object  of  his  thoughts. 
Though  he  found  it  very  possible  at  times  to 
comfort  himself  with  the  thought  that  this 
was  a  very  ordinary  interruption  of  a  Scotch 
student's  woi'k,  and  noways  represented  the 
Armida's  garden  in  which  the  knight  lost 
both  his  vocation  and  his  life,  there  were 
other  moments  and  moods  which  were  less 
easily  manageable  ;  and,  on  the  whole,  he 
wanted  the  stimulus  of  perpetual  excitement 
bo  keep  him  from  feeling  the  false  position  he 
was  in,  and  the  expediency  of  continuing 
here.  Though  the  feeling  haunted  him  all 
lay,  at  night,  in  the  drawing-room, — which 
was  brightened  and  made  sweet  by  the  fair 
English  matron  who  was  kind  to  Colin,  and 
the  fairer  maiden  who  was  the  centre  of  all 
his  thoughts, — it  vanished  like  an  evil  spirit, 
and  left  him  with  a  sense  that  nowhere  in  the 
world  could  he  have  been  so  well ;  but  when 
this  mighty  stimulus  was  withdrawn,  the 
youth  was  left  in  a  very  woful  plight,  con- 
scious, to  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  that  he 
ought  to  be  elsewhere,  and  here  was  consum- 
ing his  strength  and  life.  He  strayed  out  in 
the  darkness  of  the  December  nights  through 
the  gloomy  silent  park  into  the  little  village 
with  its  feeble  lights,  where  everybody  and 
everything  was  unknown  to  him  ;  and  all  the 
time  his  demon  sat  on  his  shoulders  and  asked 
what  he  did  there.  While  he  strayed  through 
the  broken,  irregular  village  street,  to  all  ap- 
pearance looking  at  the  dim  cottage-windows 
and  listening  to  the  rude  songs  from  the  little 
ale-house,  the  curate  encountered  the  tutor. 
Most  probably  the  young  priest,  who  was 
not  remarkable  for  wisdom,  imagined  the 
Scotch  lad  to  be  in  some  danger  ;  for  he  laid 
a  kindly  hand  upon  his  arm  and  turned  him 
away  from  the  vociferous  little  tavern,  which 
was  a  vexation  to  the  curate's  soul. 

"  I  should  like  you  to  go  up  to  the  Parson- 
age with  me,  if  you  will  only  wait  till  I  have 
seen  this  sick  woman,"  said  the  curate  ;  and 
Colin  went  in  very  willingly  within  the  cot- 
tage-porch to  wait  for  his  acquaintance,  who 
had  his  prayer-book  under  his  arm.  The 
young  Scotchman  looked  on  with  wondering 
eyes,  while  the  village  priest  knelt  down  by 
his  parishioner's  bedside  and  opened  his  book. 
Naturally  there  was  a  comparison  always  go- 
ing on  in  Colin's  mind.  He  was  like  a  pas- 
sive experimentalist,  seeing  all  kinds  of 
trials  made  before  his  eyes,  and  watching  the 
result. 


67 

"  I  wonder  if  they  all  think  it  is  a  spell," 
said  Colin  to  himself;  but  he  was  rebuked 
and  was  silent  when  he  heard  the  responses 
which  the  cottage  folk  made  on  their  knees. 
When  the  curate  had  read  his  prayer,  he  got 
up  and  said  good-night,  and  went  back  to' 
Colin  ;  and  this  visitation  of  the  sick  vras  a 
very  strange  experience  to  the  young  Scotch 
observer,  who  stood  revolving  everything, 
with  an  eye  to  Scotland,  at  the  cottage-door. 

"You  don't  make  use  of  our  Common 
Prayer  in  Scotland  ?  ' '  said  the  curate.  "  Par- 
don me  for  referring  to  it.  One  cannot  help 
being  sorry  for  people  who  shut  themselves  out 
from  such  an  inestimable  advantage.  How 
did  it  come  about?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Colin.  '« I  suppose 
because  Laud  was  a  fool,  and  King  Charles 
a  " — 

"  Hush,  for  goodness'  sake,"  said  the  cu- 
rate, with  a  shiver.  "  What  do  you  mean? 
Such  language  is  painful  to  listen  to.  The 
saints  and  martyrs  should  be  spoken  of  in  a 
different  tone.  You  think  that  was  the  rea- 
son? Oh,  no;  it  was  your  horrible  Calvin- 
ism and  John  Knox  and  the  mad  influences 
of  that  unfortunate  Reformation  which  has 
done  us  all  so  much  harm,  though  I  suppose 
you  think  differently  in  Scotland,"  he  said, 
with  a  little  sigh,  steering  his  young  compan- 
ion, of  whose  morality  he  felt  uncertain,  past 
the  alehouse-door. 

"  Did  you  never  hear  of  John  Knox's  lit- 
urgy ?  "  said  the  indignant  Colin ;  "the  sad- 
dest, passionate  service!  You  always  had 
time  to  say  your  prayers  in  England,  but  we 
had  to  snatch  them  as  we  could.  And  your 
prayers  would  not  do  for  us  now,"  said  the 
Scotch  experimentalist ;  "  I  wish  they  could  ; 
but  it  would  be  impossible.  A  Scotch  peas- 
ant would  have  thought  that  an  incantation 
you  were  reading.  When  you  go  to  see  a 
sick  man,  shouldn't  you  like  to  say,  God  save 
him,  God  forgive  him,  straight  out  of  your 
heart  without  a  book?  "  said  the  eager  lad  ; 
at  which  question  the  curate  looked  up  with 
wonder  in  the  young  man's  face. 

"  I  hope  I  do  say  it  out  of  my  heart,"  said 
the  English  priest,  and  stopped  short,  with  a 
gravity  that  had  a  great  effect  upon  Colin ; 
"  but  in  words  more  sound. than  any  words 
of  mine,"  the  curate  added  a  moment  after, 
which  dispersed  the  reverential  impression 
from  the  Scotch  mind  of  the  eager  boy. 

"  I  can't  see  that,"  said  Colin,  quickly, 


68 

"  in  the  church  for  common  prayer,  yes  ;  at 
a  bedside  in  a  cottage,  no.  At  least,  I  mean 
that's  how  we  feel  in  Scotland,  though  I  sup- 
pose you  don't  care  much  for  our  opinion," 
he  added,  with  some  heat,  thinking  he  saw  a 
smile  on  hia  companion's  face. 

"Oh,  yes,  certainly;  I  have  always  un- 
derstood that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  intelli- 
gence in  Scotland,"  said  the  curate,  cour- 
teous as  to  a  South-Sea  Islander.  "  But 
people  who  have  never  known  this  inestima- 
ble advantage  ?  I  believe  preaching  is  con- 
sidered the  great  thing  in  the  North?  "  he 
said,  with  a  little  curiosity.  "  I  wish  so- 
ciety were  a  little  more  impressed  by  it 
among  ourselves  ;  but  mere  information  even 
about  spiritual  matters  is  of  so  much  less 
importance  !  though  that,  I  dare  say,  is  an- 
other point  on  which  we  don't  agree?  "  the 
curate  continued,  pleasantly.  lie  was  just 
opening  the  gate  into  his  own  garden,  which 
was  quite  invisible  in  the  darkness,  but  which 
enclosed  and  surrounded  a  homely  house  with 
some  lights  in  the  windows,  which,  it  was  a 
little  comfort  to  Colin  to  perceive,  was  not 
much  handsomer,  nor  more  imposing  in  ap- 
pearance than  the  familiar  manse  on  the  bor- 
ders of  the  Holy  Loch. 

"  It  depends  on  what  you  call  spiritual 
matters,"  said  the  polemical  youth.  "  I 
don't  think  a  man  can  possibly  get  too  much 
information  about  his  relations  with  God,  if 
only  anybody  could  tell  him  anything  ;  but 
certainly  about  ecclesiastical  arrangements 
and  the  Christian  year,"  said  the  irreverent 
young  Scotchman,  "  a  little  might  suffice ;  " 
and  Colin  spoke  with  the  slightest  inflection 
of  contempt,  always  thinking  of  the  Twen- 
tieth Sunday  after  Trinity,  and  scorning 
what  he  did  not  understand,  as  was  natural 
to  his  years. 

"  Ah,  you  don't  know  what  you  are  say- 
ing," said  the  devout  curate.  "After  you 
have  spent  a  Christian  year,  you  will  see 
what  comfort  and  beauty  tliere  is  in  it. 
You  say,  '  if  anybody  could  tell  him  any- 
thing.' I  hope  you  have  not  got  into  a 
sceptical  way  of  thinking.  I  should  like 
very  much  to  have  a  long  talk  with  you," 
said  the  village  priest,  who  was  very  good 
and  very  much  in  earnest,  though  the  ear- 
nestness was  after  a  pattern  different  from 
anything  known  to  Colin ;  and,  before  the 
youth  perceived  what  was  going  to  happen, 
he  found  himself  in  the  curate's  study,  placed 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


I  on  a  kind  of  moral  platform,  as  the  emblem 
,  of  Doubt  and  that  pious  unbelief  which  is 
the  fovorite  of  modem  theology.  Now,  to 
jtell  the  truth,  Colin,  though  it  may  lower 
him  in  the  opinion  of  many  readers  of  his 
history,  was  not  by  nature  given  to  doubt- 
ing. He  had,  to  be  sure,  followed  the  fash- 
ion of  the  time  enough  to  be  aware  of  a  won- 
derful amount  of  unsettled  questions,  and 
questions  which  it  did  not  appear  possible 
ever  to  settle.  But  somehow  these  elements 
of  scepticism  did  not  give  him  much  trouble. 
His  heart  was  full  of  natural  piety,  and  his 
instincts  all  fresh  and  strong  as  a  child's. 
He  could  not  help  believing,  any  more  than 
he  could  help  breathing,  his  nature  being 
such  ;  and  he  was  half  amused  and  half  irri- 
tated by  the  position  in  which  he  found  him- 
self, notwithstanding  the  curate's  respect  for 
the  ideal  sceptic,  whom  he  had  thus  pounced 
upon .  The  commonplace  character  of  Colin 's 
mind  was  such  that  he  was  very  glad  when 
his  new  friend  relaxed  into  gossip,  and  asked 
him  who  was  expected  at  the  Hall  for  Christ- 
mas ;  to  which  the  tutor  answered  by  such 
names  as  he  had  heard  in  the  ladies'  talk, 
and  remembered  with  friendliness  or  witli 
jealousy,  according  to  the  feeling  with  which 
Miss  Matty  pronounced  them — which  was 
Colin 's  only  guide  amid  this  crowd  of  the 
unknown. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  to  be  a  match,"  said  the 
curate,  who,  recovering  from  hia  dread  con- 
cerning the  possible  habits  of  his  Scotch 
guest,  had  taken  heart  to  share  hia  scholarly 
potations  of  beer  with  his  new  friend.  '*  It 
was  said  Lady  Frankland  did  not  like  it,  but 
I  never  believed  that.  After  all  it  was  such 
a  natural  arrangement.  I  wonder  if  it  is  to 
be  a  match?  " 

"  Is  what  to  be  a  match?"  said  Colin, 
wlp  all  at  once  felt  his  heart  stand  still  and 
grow  cold,  though  he  sat  by  the  cheerful  fire 
which  threw  its  light  even  into  the  dark  gar- 
den outside.  "  I  have  heard  nothing  about 
any  match,"  he  added,  with  a  little  effort. 
It  dawned  upon  him  instantly  what  it  must 
be,  and  his  impulse  was  to  rush  out  of  the 
house,  or  do  anything  rash  and  sudden  that 
would  prevent  him  from  hearing  it  said  in 
words. 

"  Between  Henry  Frankland  and  his  cous- 
in," said  the  calm  curate  ;  "  they  looked  as 
if  they  were  perfectly  devoted  to  each  other 
at  one  time.     That  has  died  off,  for  she  is 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


rather  a  flirt,  I  fear  ;  but  all  the  people  here- 
abouts had  made  up  their  minds  on  the  Bub- 
jcct.  It  would  be  a  very  suitable  match  on 
the  whole.  But  why  do  you  get  up  ?  You 
are  not  going  away  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  something  to  do  when  I  go 
home,-'  said  Colin,  "  something  to  prepare," 
which  he  said  out  of  habit,  thinking  of  his 
old  work  at  home,  without  remembering 
what  he  was  saying,  or  whether  it  meant 
anything.  The  curate  put  down  the  poker 
which  he  had  lifted  to  poke  the  fire,  and 
looked  at  Colin  with  a  ^uch  of  envy. 

"Ah,  something  literary,  I  suppose?"  said 
the  young  priest,  and  went  with  his  new 
friend  to  the  door,  thinking  how  clever  he 
was,  and  how  lucky,  at  his  age,  to  have  a 
literary  connection  ;  a  thought  very  natural 
to  a  young  priest  in  a  country  curacy  with  a 
very  small  endowment.  The  curate  wrote 
verses,  as  Colin  himself  did,  though  on  very 
different  subjects,  and  took  some  of  them  out 
of  his  desk,  and  looked  at  them,  after  he  had 
shut  the  door,  with  affectionate  eyes,  and  a 
Jialf  intention  of  asking  the  tutor  what  was 
the  best  way  to  get  admission  to  the  maga- 
zines, and  on  the  whole  he  thought  he  liked 
what  he  had  seen  of  the  young  Scotchman, 
though  he  was  so  ignorant  of  Church  matters 
— an  opinion  which  Colin  perfectly  recipro- 
cated, with  a  more  distinct  sentiment  of  com- 
passion  for  the  English  curate,  who  knew 


69 

about  as  much  of  Scotland  as  if  it  had  lair 
in  the  South  Seas. 

Meanwhile  Colin  walked  home  to  Wodcng- 
bourne  with  fire  and  passion  in  his  heart. 
"  It  would  be  a  very  suitable  match  on  the 
whole,"  he  kept  saying  to  himself,  and  then 
tried  to  take  a  little  comfort  from  Matty's 
sweet  laughter  over  "  Poor  Harry  !  "  Poor 
Harry  was  rich  and  fortunate  and  indepen- 
dent, and  Colin  was  only  the  tutor.  Were 
these  two  to  meet  this  Christmas-time,  and 
contend  over  again  on  this  new  ground  ?  He 
went  along  past  the  black  trees  as  if  he  were 
walking  for  a  wager ;  but,  quick  as  he 
walked,  a  dog-cart  dashed  past  him  with 
lighted  lamp  gleaming  up  the  avenue.  When 
he  reached  the  hall-door,  one  of  the  servants 
was  disappearing  up-stairs  with  a  portman- 
teau, and  a  heap  of  coats  and  wrappers  lay 
in  the  hall. 

"  Mr.  Harry  just  come,  sir — a  week  sooner 
than  was  expected,"  said  the  butler,  who 
was  an  old  servant,  and  shared  in  the  joys  of 
the  family.  Colin  went  to  his  room  without 
a  word  ;  shut  himself  up  there  with  feelings 
which  he  would  not  have  explained  to  any 
one.  He  had  not  seen  Harry  Frankland 
since  they  were  both  boys  ;  but  he  had  never 
got  over  the  youthful  sense  of  rivalry  and 
opposition  which  had  sent  him  skimming 
over  the  waters  of  the  Holy  Loch  to  save  the 
boy  who  was  his  born  rival  and  antagonist. 
Was  this  the  day  of  their  encounter  and  con- 
flict which  had  come  at  laat  ? 


70 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


PART    VI. — CHAPTER    XVI. 

IL\RRY  Frankland's  return  made  a  great 
difiFerence  to  ihc  tutor,  between  whom  and 
the  heir  of  the  house  there  existed  that  vague 
sense  of  jealousy  and  rivalship  which  was  em- 
bittered on  the  part  of  young  Fiankland  by 
certain  consciousness  of  obligation.  lie  was 
a  good-natured  fellow  enough,  and  above  the 
meanness  of  treating  unkindly  anybody  who 
was  in  a  dependent  position  ;  but  the  circum- 
stances were  awkward,  and  he  did  not  know 
how  to  comport  himself  toward  the  stranger. 
"  The  fellow  looks  like  a  gentleman,"  he  said 
privately  in  confidence  to  his  mother  ;  "  if  I 
had  never  seen  him  before,  we  might  have  got 
on,  you  know  ;  but  it's  a  horrible  nuisance  to 
feel  tliat  you're  obliged  to  a  fellow  in  that 
kind  of  position  —  neither  your  equal,  you 
know,  nor  your  inferior ,  nor —  W  hat  on  earth 
induced  the  governor  to  have  him  here  ?  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  these  cheap  Scotch  univer- 
sities and  stuff,  he'd  have  been  a  ploughman 
that  one  could  have  given  ten  pounds  to  and 
been  done  with  him.  It's  a  confounded  nui- 
sance having  him  here." 

"Hush,  Harry,"  said  Lady  Frankland. 
"He  is  very  nice  and  very  gentlemanly,  I 
think.  He  used  to  be  very  amusing  before 
you  came  home.  Papa,  you  know,  is  not  en- 
tertaining after  dinner  ;  and  really  Mr.  Camp- 
bell was  quite  an  acquisition,  especially  to 
Matty,  who  can't  live  without  a  slave,"  said 
the  lady  of  the  house,  with  an  indulgent, 
matronly  smile. 

"  Oh,  confound  it,  why  did  the  governor 
Lave  him  here  ?  "  cried  the  discontented  heir. 
"  As  for  Matty,  it  appears  to  me  she  had 
better  begin  to  think  of  doing  without  slaves," 
he  said,  moodily,  with  a  cloud  on  his  face ; 
a  speech  which  made  his  mother  look  up 
with  a  quick  movement  of  anxiety,  though 
she  still  smiled. 

"  I  can't  make  out  either  you  or  Matty," 
said  Lady  Frankland.  "I  wish  you  would 
be  either  off  or  on.  With  such  an  appear- 
ance of  indifference  as  you  show  to  each  other 
usually  " — 

"  Oh,  indifference,  by  Jove!  "  said  Harry, 
breaking  in  upon  his  mother's  words  ;  and  the 
young  man  gave  a  short  whistle,  and,  jump- 
ing up  abruptly,  went  off  without  waiting 
for  any  conclusion.  Lady  Frankland  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  disturbing  herself  about  things 
in  general.  She  looked  after  her  son  with  a 
serious  look,  which,  however,  lasted  but  a 


moment.  She  returned  immediately  to  her 
placidity  and  her  needlework.  "  I  dare  say 
it  will  come  all  right,"  she  said  to  herself, 
with  serene  philosophy,  which  perhaps  ac- 
counted for  the  absence  of  wrinkles  in  her 
comely,  middle-aged  countenance.  Harry, 
on  the  contrary,  went  off  in  anything  but  a 
serene  state  of  mind.  It  was  a  foggy  day, 
and  the  clouds  lay  very  low  and  heavy  over 
the  fen-country,  where  there  was  nothing  to 
relieve  the  dulness  of  nature.  And  it  was 
afternoon, — the  very  time  of  the  day  when 
all  hopes  and  attempts  at  cheering  up  arc  over 
— and  dinner  was  still  too  far  off  to  throw  its 
genial  glo^  upon  the  dusky  house.  There 
had  been  nothing  going  on  for  a  day  or  two 
at  Wodensbourne.  Harry  was  before  his 
time,  and  the  expected  guests  had  not  yet 
arrived,  and  the  weather  was  as  troublesome 
and  hindersome  of  every  kind  of  recreation 
as  weather  could  possibly  be.  Young  Frank- 
land  went  out  in  a  little  fit  of  impatience, 
and  was  met  ak  the  hall-door  by  a  mouthful 
of  dense  white  steaming  air,  through  which 
even  the  jovial  trees  of  holly,  all  glowing, 
with  Christmas  bei-ries,  loomed  like  two 
prickly  ghosts.  He  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  disgust  as  he  stood  on  the  broad  stone  steps, 
not  quite  sure  what  to  do  with  himself — 
whether  to  face  the  chill  misery  of  the  air 
outside,  or  to  hunt  up  Matty  and  Charlie, 
and  betake  himself  to  the  billiard-room 
within.  But  then  the  tutor — confound  the 
fellow  !  Just  at  this  moment  Harry  Frank- 
land  heard  a  laugh,  a  provoking  little  peal  of 
silver  bells.  He  had  an  odd  sort  of  affection 
— half  love,  half  dislike  —  for  his  cousin. 
But  of  all  Matty's  charms,  there  was  none 
which  so  tantalized  and  bewitched  him  as 
this  laugh,  which  was  generally  acknowl- 
edged to  be  charming.  "Much  there  is  to 
laugh  about,  by  Jove  !  "  he  muttered  to  him- 
self, with  an  angry  flush  ;  but  he  grew 
grimly  furious  when  he  heard  her  voice. 

"You  wont  give  in,"  said  Matty,  "  the 
Scotch  never  w-ill,  I  know ;  you  are  all  so 
dreadfully  ai'gumentative  and  quarrelsome. 
But  you  are  beaten,  though  you  wont  ac- 
knowledge it ;  3'ou  know  you  are.  I  like 
talking  to  you,"  continued  the  little  witch, 
dropping  her  voice  a  little,  "  because — hush  ! 
I  thought  I  heard  some  one  calling  me  from 
the  house." 

"  Because  why?  "  said  Colin.  They  were 
a  good  way  off,  behind  one  of  those  great 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL, 


holly- trees ;  but  young  Frankland,  with  his 
quickened  ears,  discerned  in  an  instant  the 
softness,  the  tender  admiration,  the  music  of 
the  tutor's  voice.  "By  Jove!"  said  the 
heir  to  himself;  and  then  he  shouted  out, 
"  INIatty,  look  here  !  come  here  !  "  in  tones 
as  different  from  those  of  Colin  as  discord  is 
from  harmony.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
Miss  ^Matty's  ear  being  perfectly  cool  and  un- 
excited,  was  quite  able  to  discriminate  be- 
tween the  two  voices  which  thus  claimed  her 
regard. 

"What  do  you  want?"  said  Matty. 
"Don't  stand  there  in  the  fog  like  a  ghost ; 
if  you  have  anything  to  say,  come  here.  I 
am  taking  my  constitutional ;  one's  first  duty 
is  the  care  of  one's  health,"  said  the  wicked 
little  creature,  with  her  ring  of  laughter ; 
and  she  turned  back  again  under  his  very 
eyes  along  the  terrace  without  looking  at  him 
again.  As  for  Harry  Frankland,  the  words 
which  escaped  from  his  excited  lips  were  not 
adapted  for  publication.  If  he  had  been  a 
little  less  angry,  he  would  have  joined  them, 
and  so  made  an  end  of  the  tutor  ;  but,  being 
furious,  and  not  understanding  anything 
about  it,  he  burst  for  a  moment  into  profane 
language,  and  then  went  off  to  the  stables, 
where  all  the  people  had  a  bad  time  of  it 
until  the  dressing-bell  rang. 

"  What  a  savage  he  is  !  "  said  Matty,  con- 
fidentially. "  That  is  the  bore  of  cousins ; 
they  can't  bear  to  see  one  happy,  and  yet 
they  wont  take  the  trouble  of  making  them- 
selves agreeable.  How  nice  it  used  to  be  down 
at  Kilchurn  that  summer — you  remember? 
And  what  quantities  of  poetry  you  used  to 
write.  I  suppose  Wodensbourne  is  not  con- 
genial to  poetry?  You  have  never  shown 
me  anything  since  you  came  here." 

"Poetry  is  only  for  one's  youth,"  said 
Colin;  "that  is,  if  you  dignify  my  verses 
with  the  name, — for  one's  extreme  youth, 
when  one  believes  in  everything  that  is 
impossible ;  and  for  Kilchurn  and  the 
Lady's  Glen  and  the  Holy  Loch,"  said  the 
youth,  after  a  pause,  with  a  fervor  which 
disconcerted  Matty.  "  That  summer  was 
not  summer,  but  a  bit  of  paradise — and  life 
is  real  at  Wodensbourne." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  speak  in  riddles," 
eaid  Miss  Matty,  who  was  in  the  humor  to 
have  a  little  more  of  this  inferred  worship. 
"  I  should  have  thought  life  was  a  great  deal 


71 

more  real  at  Ramore  than  here.  Here  we 
have  luxuries  and  things — and — and — and 
books  and" —  She  meant  to  have  implied 
that  the  homely  life  was  hard,  and  to  have 
delicately  intimated  to  Colin  the  advantage 
of  living  under  the  roof  of  Sir  Thomas  Frank- 
land  ;  but,  catching  his  eye  at  the  outset  of 
her  sentence,  Matty  had  suddenly  perceived 
her  mistake,  and  broke  down  in  a  way  most 
unusual  to  her.  As  she  floundered,  the 
young  man  looked  at  her  with  a  full,  unhesi- 
tating gaze,  and  an  incomprehensible  smile. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said;  he  had  scarcely 
ever  attempted  before  to  take  the  superiority 
out  of  her  hands,  little  trifler  and  fine  lady  as 
she  was ;  he  had  been  quite  content  to  lay 
himself  down  in  the  dust  and  suffer  her  to 
march  over  him  in  airy  triumph.  But,  while 
she  was  only  a  little  tricksy  coquette,  taking 
from  his  imagination  all  her  higher  charms, 
Colin  was  a  true  man,  a  man  full  of  young 
genius  and  faculties  a  world  beyond  any- 
thing known  to  Matty ;  and,  when  he  was 
roused  for  the  moment,  it  was  so  easy  for  him 
to  confound  her  paltry  pretensions.  "Par- 
don me,"  he  said,  with  the  smile  which 
piqued  her,  which  she  did  not  understand; 
"  I  think  you  mistake.  At  Ramore  I  was  a__ 
poor  farmer's  son  ;  but  we  had  other  things 
to  think  of  than  the  difference  between  M'ealth 
and  poverty.  At  Ramore  we  think  nothing 
impossible;  but  here" — said  Colin,  looking 
round  him  with  a  mixture  of  contempt  and 
admiration  which  Matty  could  not  compre- 
hend. "  That,  you  perceive,  was  the  age  of 
poetry,  the  age  of  romance,  the  golden  age," 
said  the  young  man,  with  a  smile.  "The 
true  knight  required  nothing  but  his  sword, 
and  was  more  than  a  match  for  all  kinds  of 
ugly  kings  and  wicked  enchanters  ;  but  Wo- 
densbourne is  prose,  hard  prose, — fine  English, 
if  you  like,  and  much  to  be  applauded  for  its 
style."  The  tutor  ran  on,  delivering  him- 
self up  to  his  fancy.  "  Not  Miltonian,  to  be 
sure ;  more  like  Macaulay — fine,  vigorous  Eng- 
lish, not  destitute  of  appropriate  ornament, 
but  still  prose,  plain  prose,  Miss  Frankland, 
— only  prose!  " 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  you  are  cross,  Mr. 
Campbell,"  said  Matty,  with  a  little  spite 
for  her  young  vassal  showed  signs  of  enfran  ^ 
chisement  when  he  called  her  by  her  name. 
"  You  like  your  rainy  loch  better  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  world  ;  and  you  are  sorry," 


72  A    SON    OF 

said  the  sjrcn,  dropping  her  voice, — "you  arc 
even  bo  unkind  as  to  be  sorry  that  you  have 
come  here?  " 

"  Sometimes,  yes,"  said  Colin,  suddenly 
clouding  over.     "  It  is  true." 

"  Sei?iprc  se,''  said  Matty;  "though  you 
cannot  deny  that  we  freed  you  from  the  de- 
lightful duty  of  listening  to  Sir  Thomas  after 
dinner,"  she  went  on,  with  a  laugh.  "  Dear 
old  uncle,  why  docs  he  snore?  So  you  are 
really  sorry  you  came  ?  I  do  so  wish  you 
would  tell  mc  why.  Wodensbourne,  at  least, 
is  better  than  Ardmartin,"  said  Miss  Matty, 
with  a  look  of  pique.  She  was  rather  relieved 
and  yet  horribly  disappointed  at  the  thought 
that  Colin  might  perhaps  be  coming  to  his 
senses,  in  so  far  as  she  herself  was  concerned. 
It  would  save  him  a  good  deal  of  embarrass- 
ment, it  was  true  ;  but  she  was  intent  upon 
preventing  it  all  the  same. 

"  I  will  tell  you  why  I  am  sorry,  if  you 
will  tell  me  why  I  ought  to  be  glad,"  said 
Colin  who  was  wise  enough,  for  once,  to  see 
that  he  had  the  best  of  the  argument. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Matty;  "if 
you  don't  see  yourself — if  you  don't  care 
about  the  advantages — if  you  don't  mind  liv- 
ing in  the  same — I  mean,  if  you  don't  see 
the  good." 

"  I  don't  see  any  good,"  said  Colin,  with 
suppressed  passion,  "  except  one  which,  if  I 
stated  it  plainly,  you  would  not  permit  me 
to  claim.  I  see  no  advantages  that  I  can  ven- 
ture to  put  in  words.  On  the  other  hand, 
Wodensbourne  has  taught  me  a  great  deal. 
This  fine,  perspicuous  English  prose  points  an 
argument  a  great  deal  better  than  k]\  the 
Uighland  rhymings  in  existence,"  said  the 
young  man,  liittcrly ;  "  I'll  give  you  a  pro- 
fessional example,  as  I'm  a  tutor.  At  the 
Holy  Loch  we  conjugate  all  our  verbs  affirm- 
atively, interrogatively.  Charley  and  I  are 
getting  them  up  in  the  negative  form  here, 
and  it's  hard  work,"  said  Charley's  tutor. 
He  broke  olf  with  a  laugh  which  sounded 
strange  and  harsh,  an  unusual  efi'cct,  in  his 
companion's  car. 

"Affirmatively?  Interrogatively?"  said 
Miss  Matty,  with  a  pretty  puzzled  look  ;  "  I 
hate  long  words.  Uow  do  you  suppose  1  can 
know  what  you  mean  ?  It  is  sucli  a  long 
time  since  I  learnt  my  \  erbs — and  then  one 
always  hated  them  so.  Look  here,  what  a 
lovely  holly-leaf!  Jl  m'aiine,  il  ne  m'aimc 
■pas?  "  said  Miss  Matty,  pricking  her  fingers 


THE    SOIL. 

on  the  verdant  spikes,  and  casting  a  glance 
at  Colin.  When  their  eyes  met,  they  both 
laughed,  and  blushed  a  little  in  their  several 
ways — that  is  to  say.  Miss  Matty's  swart 
complexion  grew  alittle,  a  very  little,  brighter 
for  one  moment,  or  Colin  at  least  thought  it 
did,  whereas  the  blood  flushed  all  over  his 
face,  and  went  dancing  back  like  so  many 
streams  of  new  life  and  joy  to  exhilarate  his 
foolish  youthful  heart. 

,  "  By  theiby,  I  wonder  if  that  foolish 
Harry  came  from  my  aunt ;  perhaps  she 
wants  me,"  said  Miss  Matty,  who  had  gone 
as  far  as  she  meant  to  go.  "  Besides,  the  fog 
gets  heavier  ;  though,  to  be  sure,  I  have  seen 
it  twenty  times  worse  at  Kilchurn.  Perhaps 
it  is  the  fog  and  the  rain  that  makes  it  poeti- 
cal there  ?  I  prefer  reality,  if  that  means  a 
little  sunshine,  or  even  the  fire  in  my  lady's 
dressing-room,"  she  cried,  with  a  shiver. 
"  Go  indoors  and  write  me  some  pretty 
verses  :  it  is  the  only  thing  you  can  do  after 
being  such  a  savage.  Au  revoir — there  are 
no  half- partings  in  English,  and  it's  so  ridicu- 
lous to  say  good-by  for  an  hour  or  two," 
said  Miss  Matty.  She  made  him  a  little 
mock  courtesy  as  she  went  away,  to  which, 
out  of  the  fulness  of  her  grace,  the  little 
witch  added  a  smile  and  a  pretty  wave  of 
her  hand  as  she  disappeared  round  the  cor- 
ner of  the  great  holly,  which  ■/rere  meant  to 
leave  Colin  in  a  state  of  ecstasy.  He  staj-ed 
on  the  foggy  terrace  a  long  time  after  she 
had  left  him  ;  but  the  young  man's  thoughts 
were  not  ecstatic.  So  long  as  she  was  pres- 
ent, so  long  as  the  strongest  spell  of  natural 
magic  occupied  his  eyes  in  watching  and  his 
ears  in  listening  to  her,  he  was  still  carried 
along  and  kej)t  up  by  the  witchery  of  young 
love.  But  in  the  intervals  when  her  presence 
was  withdrawn,  matters  grew  to  be  rather 
serious  with  Colin.  He  was  not  like  a  love- 
sick girl,  able  to  exist  upon  these  occasional 
sweetnesses ;  he  was  a  man,  and  required 
something  more  to  satisfy  his  mind  than  the 
tantalizing  enchantments  and  disappointments 
of  this  intercourse,  which  was  fascinating 
enough  in  its  way,  but  had  no  substance  or 
reality  in  it.  lie  had  spoken  truly ;  it  had 
been  entire  romance,  sweet  as  a  morning 
dream  at  the  Holy  Loch.  There  the  two 
young  creatures,  wandering  by  the  glens  and 
streams,  were  the  ideal  youth  and  maidea 
entering  upon  their  natural  inheritance  of 
beauty  and  love  and  mutual    admiration ; 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


and  at  homely  Ramore,  ■where  the  Avovld  to 
which  Matty  belonged  was  utterly  unknown, 
it  was  not  difficult  cither  for  Colin  himself, 
or  for  those  around  him,  to  believe  that — 
with  his  endowments,  his  talents,  and  genius 
—he  could  do  anything,  or  win  any  woman. 
"Wodensbourne  was  a  most  sobering,  disen- 
chanting reality  after  this  wonderful  delu- 
sion. The  Franklanks  were  all  so  kind  to 
the  young  tutor,  and  their  sense  of  obliga- 
tion toward  him  made  his  position  so  much 
better  than  any  other  tutor's  of  his  preten- 
sions could  have  been,  that  the  lesson  came 
with  all  the  more  overwhelming  force  upon 
his  awakening  faculties.  The  morning  and 
its  dreams  were  gliding  away, — or,  at  least, 
Colin  thought  so  ;  and  this  clear  daylight, 
which  began  to  come  in,  dissipating  all  the 
magical  effects  of  sunshine  and  mist  and  dew, 
had  to  be  faced  as  he  best  could.  He  was 
not  a  young  prince,  independent  of  ordinary 
requirements ;  he  was  truly  a  poor  man's 
son,  and  possessed  by  an  ideal  of  life  and 
labor  such  as  has  inspired  many  a  young 
Scotchman.  He  wanted  not  only  to  get  on 
in  the  world,  to  acquire  an  income  and  marry 
Matty,  but  also  to  be  good  for  something  in 
his  generation.  If  the  course  of  true  love 
had  been  quite  smooth  with  him,  if  Matty 
had  been  his  natural  mate,  Colin  could  not 
have  contented  himself  with  that  personal 
felicity.  He  was  doubtful  of  all  his  sur- 
roundings, like  most  young  men  of  his  pe- 
riod,— doubtful  what  to  do  and  how  to  do 
it, — more  than  doubtful  of  all  the  local  ways 
and  fashions  of  the  profession  to  which  he 
had  been  trained.  But  underneath  this  un- 
certainty lay  something  of  which  Colin  had 
no  doubt.  He  had  not  been  brought  into 
the  world  without  an  object;  he  did  not 
mean  to  leave  it  without  leaving  some  mark 
that  he  had  been  here.  To  get  through  life 
easily  and  secure  as  much  pleasure  as  possi- 
ble by  the  way  was  not  the  theory  of  exist- 
ence known  at  Ramore.  There  it  was  un- 
derstood to  be  a  man's,  a  son's  duty  to  better 
his  position,  to  make  his  way  upward  in  the 
world  :  and  this  philosophy  of  life  had  been 
enlarged  and  elevated  in  the  poetic  soul  of 
iColin's  mother.  He  had  something  to  do  in 
bis  own  country,  in  his  own  generation. 
Vhat  was  the  master-idea  of  the  young 
man's  mind.  How  it  was  to  be  reconciled 
with  this  aimless,  dependent  life  in  the  rich 
English  household — with  this  rivalry,  which 


73 


could  never  come  to  anything,  with  Sir 
Thomas  Frankland's  heir— with  this  vain 
love,  which,  it  began  to  be  apparent  to 
Colin,  must,  like  the  rivalry,  end  in  noth- 
ing—it was  hard  to  see.  He  remained  on 
the  terrace  for  about  an  hour,  walking  up 
and  down  in  the  fog.  All  that  he  could  see 
before  him  were  some  indistinct  outlines  of 
trees,  looking  black  through  the  steaming 
white  air,  and,  behind,  the  great  ghost  of 
the  house,  with  its  long  front  and  wings  re- 
ceding into  the  mist, — the  great,  wealthy, 
stranger  house,  to  which  he  and  his  life 
had  so  little  relationship.  Many  were  the 
thoughts  in  Colin 's  mind  during  this  hour  ; 
and  they  were  far  from  satisfactory.  Even 
the  object  of  his  love  began  to  be  clouded 
over  with  fogs,  which  looked  very  different, 
breathing  over  those  low,  rich,  English  levels, 
from  the  fairy  mists  of  the  Lady's  Glen.  He 
began  to  perceive  dimly  that  his  devotion  was 
a  toy  and  plaything  to  this  little  woman  of 
the  world.  He  began  to  perceive  what  an 
amount  of  love  would  be  necessary  to  make 
such  a  creature  as  Matty  place  herself  con- 
sciously by  the  side  of  such  a  lover  as  him- 
self. Love  ! — and  as  yet  all  that  he  could 
say  certainly  of  Matty  was  that  she  liked  a 
little  love-making,  and  had  afforded  him  a 
great  many  fticilities  for  that  agreeable  but 
unproductive  occupation.  Colin's  heart  lost 
itself  in  an  uncertainty  darker  than  the  fog. 
His  own  position  galled  him  profoundly.  He 
was  Charley's  tutor.  They  were  all  very 
kind  to  him  ;  but,  supposing  he  were  to  ask 
the  child  of  the  house  to  descend  from  her 
eminence  and  be  his  wife — not  even  his  wife, 
indeed,  but  his  betrothed  ;  to  wait  years  and 
years  for  him  until  he  should  be  able  to  claim 
her, — what  would  everybody  think  of  him  ? 
Colin's  heart  beat  against  his  breast  in  loud 
throbs  of  wounded  love  and  pride.  At  Wo- 
densbourne  everything  seemed  impossible. 
He  had  not  the  heart  to  go  away  and  end 
abruptly  his  first  love  and  all  his  dreams,  and 
how  could  he  stay  to  consume  his  heart  and 
his  life?  How  go  back  to  the  old  existence, 
which  would  now  be  so  much  harder?  How 
begin  anew  and  try  another  existence  apart 
from  all  his  training  and  traditions,  for  the 
sake  of  that  wildest  of  incredible  hopes  ? 
Colin  hj^d  lived  for  some  time  in  this  state  of 
struggle  and  argument  with  himself,  and  it 
was  only  Matty's  presence  which  at  times 
delivered  him  from  it.      Now,  as  before,  he 


74  A    SON    OF 

took  refuge  in  the  thought  that  he  could  not 
immediately  free  hiniself:  that,  having  ac- 
cepted his  position* as  Charley's  tutor,  he 
could  not  relinquish  it  immediately  ;  that 
honor  bound  him  to  remain  for  the  winter  at 
least.  AVhcn  he  had  come,  for  the  fiftieth 
time,  to  this  conclusion,  he  went  indoors, 
and  up-stairs  to  his  room.  It  was  a  good 
way  up,  but  yet  it  was  more  luxurious  than 
anything  in  Ramore,  and  on  the  table  there 
were  some  flowers  which  she  had  given  him 
the  night  before.  Poor  Colin  !  after  his  se- 
rious reflections  he  owed  liimself  a  little  holi- 
day. It  was  an  odd  enough  conclusion,  cer- 
tainly, to  his  thoughts,  but  he  had  an  hour 
to  himself  and  his  writing-desk  was  open  on 
the  table,  and  involuntarily  he  bethought 
himself  of  Miss  Matty's  parting  words.  The 
end  of  it  was  that  he  occupied  his  hour  writ- 
ing and  rewriting  and  polishing  into  smooth 
couplets  the  pretty  verses  which  that  young 
lady  had  asked  for.  Colin's  verses  were  as 
follows,  from  which  it  will  be  seen  that, 
though  he  had  a  great  deal  of  poetical  senti- 
ment, he  was  right  in  refusing  to  consider 
himself  a  poet : — 

"  In  English  speech,  my  lady  said. 

There  are  no  sweet  half-part  in  irs  made — 

AVords  half  regret,  half  joy,  that  tell 

We  meet  again  and  all  is  well. 

Ah,  not  for  sunny  hours  or  days 

Its  grave  '  Farewell '  our  England  says  ; 

Nor  for  a  moment's  absence,  true, 

Utters  its  prayer,  '  God  be  with  you.' 

Other  the  thoughts  that  Love  may  reach, 

In  the  grave  tones  of  English  speech  ; 

Deeper  than  Fancy's  passing  breath, 

The  blessing  stands  for  life  or  death. 

If  Heaven  in  wrath  should  rule  it  so, 

If  earth  were  capable  of  woe 

So  bitter  as  that  this  might  be 

The  last  dear  word  'twixt  thee  and  me, 

Thus  Love  in  English  speech,  above 

All  lighter  thoughts,  breathes,  '  Farewell,  Love  ; 

For  hours  or  ages  if  we  part, 

God  be  with  thee,  where'er  thcJu  art. 

To  no  less  hands  than  his  alone 

I  trust  thy  soul  out  of  my  own.' 

Thus  speaks  the  Love  that,  grave  and  strong. 

Can  master  death,  neglect,  and  wrong, 

Yet  ne'er  can  learn,  long  as  it  lives. 

To  limit  the  full  soul  it  gives. 

Or  clieat  the  pai-ting  of  its  pain 

With  light  words  '  Till  we  meet  again.' 

Ah,  no,  while  on  a  moment's  breath 

Love  holds  the  poise  'twixt  lifeand  death, 

He  cannot  leave  who  loves  thee,  sweet, 

With  light  postponement  '  Till  we  meet  ; ' 

But  rather  prays,  '  Whate'er  may  be 

My  life  or  death,  God  be  with  tkce! 


THE    SOIL. 

Though  one  brief  hour  my  course  may  tell. 
Ever  and  ever  fare  tliou  well. '  " 

Probably    tlie   readers   of  this   history   will 
think  that  Colin  deserved  his  fate. 

He  gavetlicmto  her  in  the  evening,  when  he 
found  her  alone  in  the  drawing-room, — alone, 
at  least,  in  so  far  that  Lady  Frankland  was 
nodding  over  the  newspaper,  and  taking  no 
notice  of  Miss  Matty's  proceedings.  "Oh, 
thank  you  !  how  nice  of  you  I  "  cried  the 
young  lady  ;  but  she  crumpled  the  little  bil- 
let in  her  hand,  and  put  it,  not  into  her 
bosom  as  young  ladies  do  in  novels,  but  into 
her  pocket,  glancing  at  the  door  as  she  did 
so.  "  I  do  believe  you  are  right  in  saying 
that  there  is  nothing  but  prose  here,"  Baid 
Matty.  "I  can't  read  it  just  now.  It  would 
only  make  them  laugh,  you  know  ;  "  and 
she  went  away  forthwith  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  and  began  to  occupy  himself  in 
arranging  some  music.  She  was  thus  em- 
ployed when  Harry  came  in,  looking  black 
enough.  Colin  was  left  to  himself  all  that 
evening.  He  had,  moreover,  the  gratifica- 
tion of  witnessing  all  the  privileges  once  ac- 
corded to  himself  given  to  his  rival.  Even 
in  matters  less  urgent  than  love,  it  is  disen- 
chanting to  see  the  same  attentions  lavished 
on  another  of  which  one  has  imagined  one's 
self  the  only  possessor.  It  was  in  vain  that 
Colin  attempted  a  grim  smile  to  herself  at 
this  transference  of  Matty's  wiles  and  witch- 
eries. The  lively  table-talk — more  lively 
than  it  could  be  with  him,  for  the  two  knew 
all  each  other's  friends  and  occupations  ;  the 
little  services  about  the  tea-table  which  he 
himself  had  so  often  rendered  to  Matty,  but 
which  her  cousin  could  render  with  a  freedom 
impossible  to  Colin ;  the  pleased,  amused  looks 
of  the  elders,  who  evidently  imagined  matters 
to  be  going  on  as  they  wished, — would  have 
been  enough  of  themselves  to  drive  the  un- 
fortunate youth  half  wild  as  he  sat  in  the 
background  and  witnessed  it  all.  But,  as 
Colin's  evil  genius  would  have  it,  the  curate 
was  that  evening  dining  at  "Wodensbourne. 
And,  in  pursuance  of  his  benevolent  intention 
of  cultivating  and  influencing  the  young 
Scotchman,  this  excellent  ecclesiastic  devoted 
himself  to  Colin.  He  asked  a  great  many 
questions  about  Scotland  and  the  Sabbath 
question,  and  the  immoral  habits  of  the  peas- 
antry, to  which  the  catechumen  replied  with 
varying  temper,  sometimes  giving  wild  an- 
swers, quite  wide  of  the  mark,  as  he  applied 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


his  jealous  ear  to  hear  rather  the  conversation 
going  on  at  a  little  distance  than  the  inter- 
rogatory addressed  to  himself.  Most  people 
have  experienced  something  of  the  difficulty 
of  keeping  up  an  indifferent  conversation 
■while  watching  and  straining  to  catch  such 
scraps  as  may  be  audible  of  something  more 
interesting  going  on  close  by  ;  but  the  diffi- 
culty was  aggravated  in  Colin 's  case  by  the 
flvct  that  his  own  private  interlocutor  was 
doing  everything  in  his  power  to  exasperate 
him  in  a  well-meaning  and  friendly  way,  and 
that  the  words  which  fell  on  his  ear  close  at 
hand  were  scarcely  less  irritating  than  the 
half-heard  words,  the  but  too  distinctly  seen 
combinations  at  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
where  Matty  was  making  tea,  with  her  cousin 
hanging  over  her  chair.  After  he  had  borne 
it  as  long  as  he  could,  Colin  turned  to 
bay. 

*'  Scotland  is  not  in  the  South  Seas,"  said 
the  young  Scotchman  ;  "  a  day's  journey  any 
time  will  take  you  there.  As  for  our  uni- 
versities, they  are  not  rich  like  yours  ;  but 
they  have  been  heard  of  from  time  to  time," 
Baid  Colin,  with  indignation.  His  eyes  had 
caught  fire  from  long  provocation,  and  they 
were  fixed  at  this  moment  upon  Matty,  who 
was  showing  her  cousin  something  which  she 
half  drew  out  of  her  pocket  under  cover  of 
her  handkerchief.  Was  it  his  foolish  offering 
that  the  two  were  about  to  laugh  over?  In 
the  bitterness  of  the  moment,  he  could  have 
taken  the  most  summary  vengeance  on  the 
irreproachable  young  clergyman.  "Wedon't 
tattoo  ourselves  nowadays,  and  no  English- 
man has  eaten  in  my  district  within  the  mem- 
ory of  man,"  said  the  young  savage,  who 
looked  quite  inclined  to  swallow  somebody, 
though  it  was  doubtful  who  was  the  immedi- 
ate object  of  his  passion,  which  played  in  his 
brown  eyes.  Perhaps  Colin  had  never  been 
50  much  excited  in  his  life. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  wondering 
curate.  "  I  tell  you,  I  fear  " — and  he  fol- 
lowed Colin 's  eyes,  after  his  first  movement 
of  offence  was  over,  and  perhaps  compre- 
hended the  mystery ;  for  the  curate  himself 
had  been  in  his  day  the  subject  of  experi- 
ments. "  They  seem  to  have  come  to  a  very 
good  understanding,  these  two,"  he  said, 
with  a  gentle  clerical  leaning  toward  inev- 
itable gossip.  "  I  told  you  how  it  was  likely 
to  be.     I  wish  you  would  come  to  the  vicar- 


75 

age  oftener,"  continued  the  young  priest. 
"  If  Frankland  and  you  don't  get  on  " — 

"  Why  should  not  we  get  on?  "  said  Colin, 
who  was  half  mad  with  excitement, — he  had 
just  seen  some  paper,  wonderfully  like  his 
own  verses,  handed  from  one  to  another  of 
the  pair  who  were  so  mutually  engrossed, — 
and,  if  he  could  have  tossed  the  curate  or 
anybody  else  who  might  happen  to  be  at 
hand  out  of  window,  it  would  have  been  a 
relief  to  his  feelings.  "  He  and  I  are  in  very 
different  circumstances,"  said  the  young  man, 
with  his  eyes  aflame.  "  I  am  not  aware  that 
it  is  of  theleast  importance  to  any  one  whether 
we  get  on  or  not.  You  forget  that  T  am  only 
the  tutor."  It  occurred  to  him,  as  he  spoke, 
how  he  had  said  the  same  words  to  !Matty  at 
Ardmartin,  and  how  they  had  laughed  to- 
gether over  his  position.  It  was  not  any 
laughing  matter  now  ;  and  to  see  the  two 
heads  bending  over  that  bit  of  paper  was 
more  than  he  could  bear. 

"  I  wish  you  would  come  oftener  to  the 
parsonage,"  said  the  benevolent  curate.  "  I 
might  be — we  might  be — of— of  some  use  to 
each  other.  I  am  very  much  interested  in 
your  opinions.  I  wish  I  could  bring  you  to 
see  the  beauty  of  all  th^Church's  arrange- 
ments and  the  happiness  of  those  " — 

Here  Colin  rose  to  his  feet  without  being 
aware  of  it,  and  the  curate  stopped  speaking. 
He  was  a  man  of  placid  temper  himself,  and 
the  young  stranger's  aspect  alarmed  him. 
Harry  Frankland  was  coming  forward  with 
the  bit  of  paper  in  his  hand. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Frankland,  instinct- 
ively turning  his  back  on  the  tutor,  "  here's 
a  little  drawing  my  cousin  has  been  making 
for  some  schools  you  want  in  the  village. 
She  says  they  must  be  looked  after  directly. 
It's  only  a  scratch  ;  but  I  think  it's  pretty — 
a  woman  is  always  shaky  in  her  outlines,  you 
know;  but  the  idea  aint  bad;  is  it?  She 
says  I  am  to  talk  to  you  on  the  subject," 
said  the  heir  ;  and  he  spread  out  the  sketch 
on  the  table  and  began  to  discuss  it  with  the 
pleased  curate.  Harry  was  pleased,  too,  in  a 
modified  way  ;  he  thought  he  was  gratifying 
Matty,  and  he  thought  it  was  good  of  such  a 
wayward  little  thing  to  think  about  the  vil- 
lage children  ;  and  finally,  he  thought  if  she 
had  been  indifferent  to  the  young  lord  of  the 
manor,  she  would  not  have  taken  so  much 
trouble — which  were  all  agreeable  and  con- 


76  A    SON    OF 

eolatory  imaginations.  As  for  Colin,  stand- 
ing up  by  the  table,  his  cj-os  suddenly 
glowed  and  melted  into  a  mist  of  sweet  com- 
punctions ;  he  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment, 
and  then  he  caught  the  smallest  possible  ges- 
ture, the  movement  of  a  finger,  tlie  scarce- per- 
ceptible lifting  of  an  eyelash,  which  called 
him  to  her  side.  When  he  went  up  to  Matty, 
he  found  her  reading  very  demurely,  with 
her  book  held  in  both  her  hands,  and  his  lit- 
tle poem  placed  above  the  printed  page. 
"  It  is  charming  !  "  said  the  little  witch  ; 
"  I  could  not  look  at  it  till  I  had  got  rid  of 
Harry.  It  is  quite  delightful,  and  it  is  the 
greatest  shame  in  the  world  not  to  print  it ; 
but  I  can't  conceive  how  you  can  possibly 
remember  the  trumpery  little  things  I  say." 
The  conclusion  was,  that  sweeter  dreams  than 
usual  visited  Colin's  sleep  that  night.  Miss 
Matty  had  not  yet  done  with  her  interesting 
victim. 


THE    SOIL. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

Colin  found  a  letter  on  the  breakfast-table 
next  morning,  which  gave  a  new  development 
to  his  mental  struggle.  It  was  from  the  pro- 
fessor in  Glasgow  in  whose  class  he  had  won 
his  greatest  laurels.  He  was  not  a  corre- 
spondent nor  even  a  friend  of  Colin's,  and 
tiie  effect  of  his  letter  was  increased  accord- 
ingly. "  One  of  our  exhibitions  to  Balliol 
is  to  be  competed  for  immediately  after  Christ- 
mas," wrote  the  professor.  "  I  am  very  anx- 
ious that  you  should  be  a  candidate.  From 
all  I  have  seen  of  you,  I  am  inclined  to  augur 
a  brilliant  career  for  your  talents  if  they  are 
fully  cultivated ;  and  for  the  credit  of  our 
university,  as  well  as  for  your  own  sake,  I 
should  be  glad  to  see  you  the  holder  of  this 
scholarship.  Macdonald,  your  old  rival,  is 
a  very  satisfactory  scholar,  and  has  un- 
bounded perseverance  and  steadiness — dog- 
gedncss,  I  might  almost  say  ;  but  he  is  not 
the  kind  of  man — I  speak  to  you  frankly — to 
do  us  any  credit  at  Oxford,  nor  indeed  to  do 
himself  any  particular  advantage,  llis  is  the 
commonly  received  type  of  Scotch  intelligence, 
— hard,  keen,  and  unsympathetic, — a  form  as 
little  true  to  the  character  of  the  nation  as 
conventional  types  usually  arc.  I  don't  want, 
to  speak  the  truth,  to  send  him  to  my  old 
college  as  a  specimen  of  what  we  can  pro- 
duce here.  It  would  be  much  more  satisfac- 
tory to  myself  to  send  you,  and  I  think  you 


mc  that  Sir  Thomas  Frankland  is  an  old 
friend  and  one  under  obligations  to  you  or 
your  family  ;  probably  in  the  circumstances, 
he  would  not  object  to  release  you  from  your 
engagement.  The  matter  is  so  important, 
that  I  don't  think  you  should  allow  any  false 
delicacy  in  respect  to  your  present  occupa- 
tion to  deter  you  from  attending  to  your  own 
interests.  You  are  now  just  at  the  age  to 
benefit  in  tlie  highest  degree  by  such  an  op- 
portunity of  prosecuting  your  studies." 

This  was  the  letter  which  woke  all  the 
slumbering  forces  of  Colin's  mind  to  renew 
the  struggle  against  his  heart  and  his  fancy 
which  he  had  already  waged  unsuccessfully. 
He  was  not  of  much  use  to  Charley  for  that 
day  at  least ;  their  conjugations,  negative  or 
afiirmative,  made  but  small  progress,  and  the 
sharp-witted  boy  gave  his  tutor  credit  for  be- 
ing occupied  with  Matty,  and  scorned  him 
accordingly, — of  which  fact  the  young  man 
was  fortunately  quite  unaware.  "When  it 
became  possible  for  Colin  to  speak  to  Sir 
Thomas  on  the  subject,  he  had  again  lost  him- 
self in  a  maze  of  conflicting  inclinations. 
Should  he  leave  this  false  position,  and  be- 
take himself  again,  in  improved  and  altered 
circumstances,  to  the  business  of  his  life? 
But  Colin  saw  very  clearly  that  to  leave  his 
present  position  was  to  leave  ]Matty ;  to  re- 
linquish his  first  dream  ;  to  give  up  the  Illu- 
sion which ,  notwithstanding  all  its  drawbacks, 
had  made  life  lovely  to  him  for  the  past  year 
at  least.  Already  he  had  so  far  recovered 
his  senses  as  to  feel  that,  if  he  left  her  now, 
he  left  her  forever,  and  that  no  new  tie  could 
be  woven  between  his  humble  fortunes  and 
those  of  the  little  siren  at  Wodensbourne. 
Knowing  this,  yet  all  the  while  subject  to  her 
witcheries — hearing  the  song  that  lured  him 
on — how  was  he  to  take  a  strenuous  resolu- 
tion and  leap  back  into  the  disenchanted  ex- 
istence, full  of  duty  but  deprived  of  delights, 
which  awaited  him  in  his  proper  sphere? 
He  had  gone  out  to  the  terrace  again  in  the 
afternoon  to  argue  it  out  with  himself,  when 
he  encountered  Sir  Thomas,  who  had  a  cold, 
and  was  taking  his  constitutional  discreetly 
for  his  health's  sake,  not  without  an  eye  to 
the  garden  in  which  Lady  Frankland  intended 
sundry  alterations  which  were  not  quite  sat- 
isfactory to  her  lord.  "  Of  course  I  don't 
mean  to  interfere  with  my  lady's  fancies, 


could  make  better  use  of  the  opportunities   said  the  baronet,  who  was  pleased  to  find 
thus  opened  to  you,      Lauderdale   informs  |  some  one  to  whom  he  could  confide  his  griefs  ; 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


"  a  flower-garden  is  a  •woman's  department 
certainly,  if  anything  is ;  but  I  wont  have 
this  terrace  disturbed.  It  uned  to  be  my 
mother's  favorite  walk,"  said  Sir  Thomas. 
The  good  man  went  on,  a  little  moved  by  this 
particular  recollection,  meditating  his  griev- 
ance. Sir  Thomas  had  got  very  nearly  to  the 
other  end  of  that  table-land  of  existence  which 
lies  between  the  ascent  and  the  descent, — that 
interval  in  which  the  suns  burn  hottest,  the 
winds  blow  coldest,  but  upon  which,  when  it 
is  fair  weather,  the  best  part  of  life  may  be 
spent.  By  right  of  his  extended  prospect, 
he  was  naturally  a  little  contemptuous  of 
those  griefs  and  struggles  of  youth  which 
cloud  on  the  ascending  way.  Had  any  one 
told  him  of  the  real  conflict  which  was  going 
on  in  Colin 's  mind,  the  excellent  middle-aged 
man  would  but  have  laughed  at  the  boy's  folly 
— a  laughter  softened  yet  confirmed  by  the 
recollection  of  similar  clouds  in  his  ownexpe 
rience  which  had  long  dispersed  into  thin  air 
He  was  a  little  serious  at  the  present  moment 
about  my  lady's  caprice,  which  aimed  at  al- 
tering the  smooth  stretch  of  lawn  to  which 
bis  eyes  had  been  accustomed  for  years,  and 
turned  to  listen  to  Colin,  when  the  young 
man  addressed  him,  with  a  slight  air  of  im- 
patience, not  knowing  anything  of  impor- 
tanqp  which  the  youth  could  have  to  say. 

"1  should  be  glad  to  know,"  said  Colin, 
with  hesitation,"  how  long  you  think  Charley 
will  want  my  services.  Lady  Frankland  was 
speaking  the  other  day  of  the  improvement 
in  his  health." 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  the  baronet,  brighten- 
ing up  a  little ;  for  his  invalid  boy  was  his 
favorite.  "We  are  greatly  obliged  to  you, 
Campbell.  Charley  has  brightened  and  im- 
proved amazingly  since  you  came  here." 

This  was  an  embarrassing  way  of  receiving 
Colin 'e  attempt  at  disengaging  himself  from 
Charley.  The  youth  hesitated  and  stammered, 
and  could  not  well  make  up  his  mind  what 
to  say  next.  In  his  perplexity  he  took  out 
the  letter  which  had  stimulated  him  to  this 
attempt.  Sir  Thomas,  who  was  still  a  little 
impatient,  took  it  out  of  his  hands  and  read  it. 
The  baronet  whistled  under  his  breath  with 
puzzled  astonishment  as  he  read,  "What 
does  it  mean  ?  "  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  You  de- 
clined to  go  to  Oxford  under  my  auspices, 
and  now  here  is  something  about  a  scholar- 
ship and  a  competition.  You  want  to  go  to 
the  university  after  all ;  but  why,  then,  reject 


77 

my  proposal  when  I  made  it?  "  said  Colin's 
patron,  who  thought  his  protege  had  chosen 
a  most  unlucky  moment  for  changing  his 
mind. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Colin,  "  but  I 
could  not  accept  your  ofier  at  any  time.  I 
could  not  accept  such  a  favor  from  any  man, 
and  I  know  no  claim  I  have  upon  you  to  war- 
rant " — 

"  Oh,  stufi"!  "  said  Sir  Thomas  ;  "  I  know 
very  well  what  are  the  obligations  I  am  un- 
der to  you,  Campbell.  You  saved  my  son 
Harry's  life  ;  we  are  all  very  sensible  of  your 
claims.  I  should  certainly  have  expected  you 
to  help  Harry  as  far  a»  was  possible,  for  he 
is  like  myself:  he  is  more  in  the  way  of 
cricket  and  boating,  and  a  day  with  the 
hounds  when  he  can  get  it,  than  Greek  ;  but 
I  should  have  felt  real  pleasure,"  said  the 
baronet,  blandly,  "  in  helping  so  deserving  a 
young  man,  and  one  to  whom  we  all  feel  so 
much  indebted." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Colin,  who  at  that 
moment  would  have  felt  real  pleasure  in 
punching  the  head,  or  maltreating  the  per- 
son of  the  heir  of  Wodensbourne  ;  "I  sup- 
pose we  have  all  some  pride  in  one  way  or 
another.  I  am  obliged  to  you.  Sir  Thomas, 
but  I  could  not  accept  such  a  favor  from  you  ; 
whereas  a  prize  won  at  my  own  university," 
said  the  young  man,  with  a  little  elevation, 
"  is  no  discredit,  but," — 

"Discredit!"  said  Sir  Thomas;  "you 
must  have  a  very  strange  idea  of  me,  Mr. 
Campbell,  if  you  imagine  it  discreditable  to 
accept  a  kindness  at  my  hands." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  again  said  Colin, 
who  was  at  his  wits'  end  ;  "  I  did  not  mean 
to  say  anything  uncivil, — but  I  am  Scotch. 
I  dislike  receiving  favors,     I  prefer  " — 

Sir  Thomas  rubbed  his  hands.  The  apol- 
ogy of  nationality  went  a  long  way  with  him, 
and  restored  his  temper.  "  Yes,  yes ;  I  un- 
derstand," he  said,  with  good-humored  supe- 
riority :  "  you  prefer  conferring  favors, — you 
like  to  keep  the  upper  hand.  I  know  a  great 
deal  of  you  Scotchmen  ;  I  flatter  myself  I  un- 
derstand your  national  character.  I  should 
like  to  know  now,"  said  the  baronet,  confi- 
dentially, "  if  you  are  set  upon  becoming  a 
Scotch  minister,  as  you  once  told  me,  what 
good  it  will  do  you  going  to  Oxford  ?  Sup- 
posing you  were  to  distinguish  yourself, 
which  I  think  very  possible  ;  supposing  you 
were  to  take  a— a  second-class,  or  even  a 


78 

first-class,  for  example,  what  would  be  the 
good  ?  The  reputation  and  the — the  prestige 
and  that  sort  of  thing  would  be  altogether 
lost  in  Scotland.  All  the  upper  classes,  you 
know,  have  gone  from  the  old  Kirk,  and  you 
would  not  please  the  peasants  a  bit  better  for 
being — indeed,  the  idea  of  an  Oxford  first- 
class  man  spending  his  life  preaching  to  a  set 
of  peasants  is  absurd,"  said  Sir  Thomas. 
"  I  know  more  about  Scotland  than  most 
men  :  I  paid  a  great  deal  of  attention  to  that 
Kirk  question.  If  you  go  to  Oxford  I  shall 
expect  you  to  change  your  mind  about  your 
profession.  If  you  don't  take  to  something 
more  ambitious,  at  least  you'll  go  in  for  the 
Church." 

"  I  have  always  intended  so,"  said  Colin, 
with  his  grand  air,  ignoring  the  baronet's 
meaning.  "To  preach,  if  it  is  only  to  peas- 
ants, is  more  worth  a  man's  while  than  read- 
ing prayers  forever,  like  your  curate  here. 
I  am  only  Scotch  ;  I  know  no  better,"  said 
Colin.  "  We  want  changes  in  Scotland,  it  is 
true  ;  but  it  is  as  good  to  work  for  Scotland 
as  for  England — better  for  me — and  I  should 
not  grudge  my  first-class  to  the  service  of  my 
native  Church,"  said  the  youth,  with  a 
movement  of  his  head  which  tossed  his  heavy 
brown  locks  from  the  concealed  forehead. 
Sir  Thomas  looked  at  him  with  a  blank 
amazement,  not  knowing  in  the  least  what 
he  meant.  He  thought  the  young  fellow 
had  been  piqued  somehow,  most  probably  by 
Matty,  and  was  in  a  heroical  mood,  which 
mood  Colin's  patron  did  not  pretend  to  un- 
derstand. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  with  some  impa- 
tience, "  I  suppose  you  will  take  your  own 
way  ;  but  I  must  say  it  would  seem  very  odd 
to  see  an  Oxford  first-class  man  in  a  queer 
little  kirk  in  the  Highlands,  preaching  a  ser- 
mon an  hour  long.  Of  course,  if  you  like  it, 
that's  another  matter  ;  and  the  Scotch  cer- 
tainly do  seem  to  like  preaching,"  said  Sir 
Thomas,  with  natural  wonder;  "but  we 
flattered  ourselves  you  were  comfortable 
here.     lam  sorry  you  want  to  go  away." 

This  was  taking  Colin  on  his  undefended 
side.  The  words  brought  color  to  his  cheeks 
and  moisture  to  his  eye.  "  Indeed,  I  don't 
want  to  go  away,"  he  said,  and  paused  and 
faltered  and  grew  still  more  deeply  crimson. 
"  I  can  never  forget ;  I  can  never  tliink  oth- 
erwise than  with — with  gratitude  of  Wodens- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


bourne."  He  was  going  to  have  said  ten- 
derness, but  stopped  himself  in  time  ;  and 
even  Sir  Thomas,  though  his  eyes  were  no- 
way anointed  with  any  special  chrism  of  in- 
sight, saw  the  emotion  in  his  face. 

"Then  don't  go,"  said  the  straightfor- 
ward baronet ;  "  why  should  you  go  if  you 
don't  want  to?  We  are  all  most  anxious 
that  you  should  stay.  Indeed,  it  would  up- 
set my  plans  dreadfully  if  you  were  to  leave 
Charley  at  present.  He's  a  wonderful  fel- 
low, is  Charley.  He  has  twice  as  much 
brains  as  the  rest  of  my  boys,  sir  ;  and  you 
understand  him,  Campbell.  He  is  happier, 
he  is  stronger,  he  is  even  a  better  fellow, — 
poor  lad,  when  he's  ill  he  can't  be  blamed 
for  a  bit  of  temper, — since  you  came.  In- 
deed, now  I  think  it  over,"  said  Sir  Thomas, 
"  you  will  mortify  and  disappoint  me  very 
much  if  you  go  away.  I  quite  considered 
you  had  accepted  Charley's  tutorship  for  a 
year  at  least.  My  dear,  here's  a  pretty  busi- 
ness," he  said,  turning  round  at  the  sound 
of  steps  and  voices,  which  Colin  had  already 
discerned  from  afar  with  a  feeling  that  he 
was  now  finally  vanquished,  and  could  yield 
with  a  good  grace  ;  "  here's  Campbell  threat- 
ening to  go  away." 

"To  go  away !  "  said  Lady  Frankland. 
"  Dear  me,  he  can't  mean  it.  Why,  he*nly 
came  the  other  day;  and  Charley,  you  know," 
— said  the  anxious  mother;  but  she  recol- 
lected Harry's  objection  to  the  tutor,  and 
did  not  make  any  very  warm  opposition. 
Colin,  however,  was  totally  unconscious  of 
the  lukewarmness  of  the  lady  of  the  house. 
The  little  scream  of  dismay  with  which  Miss 
Matty  received  the  intelligence  might  have 
deluded  a  wiser  man  than  he. 

"  Going  away  !  I  call  it  downright  treach- 
ery," said  Miss  Matty.  "  I  think  it  is  using 
you  very  unkindly,  uncle ;  when  he  knows 
you  put  such  dependence  on  him  about  Char- 
ley, and  when  we  know  the  house  has  been 
quite  a  different  thing  since  Mr.  Campbell 
came,"  said  the  little  witch,  with  a  double 
meaning,  of  which  Colin,  poor  boy,  swal- 
lowed the  sweeter  sense,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation.  lie  knew  it  was  not  the  improve- 
ment in  Charley's  temper  which  had  made 
the  house  different  to  Matty;  but  Lady 
Frankland,  who  was  not  a  woman  of  imag- 
ination, took  up  seriously  what  seemed  to  be 
the  obvious  meaning  of  the  words. 


A     SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 


79 


"  It  'is  quite  true.  I  am  sure  wc  are  much 
obliged  to  Mr.  Campbell,"  she  said  ;  "  Char- 
ley is  quite  an  altered  boy  ;  and  I  had  hoped 
you  were  liking  \Yodensbourne.  If  we  could 
do  anything  to  make  it  more  agreeable  to 
you,"  said  Lady  Frankland,  graciously,  re- 
membering how  Charley's  "  temper  "  was 
the  horror  of  the  house.  "  I  am  sure  Sir 
Thomas  would  not  grudge  " — 

'•  Pray  do  not  say  any  more,"  said  Colin, 
confused  and  blushing  ;  "  no  house  could  be 
more — no  hoa«e  could  be  so  agreeable  to  me. 
You  are  all  very  kind.  It  was  only  my — my 
own  " — 

What  he  was  going  to  say  is  beyond  the 
reach  of  discovery.  He  was  interrupted  by 
a  simultaneous  utterance  from  all  the  three 
persons  present,  of  which  Colin  heard  only 
the  soft  tones  of  Matty.  "  He  does  not  mean 
it,"  she  said  ;  "he  only  means  to  alarm  us. 
I  shall  not  say  good-by,  nor  farewell  either. 
You  shall  have  no  good  wishes  if  you  think 
of  going  away.  False  as  a  Campbell,"  said 
the  siren  under  her  breath,  with  a  look  which 
overpowered  Colin.  He  never  was  quite  ^re 
what  words  followed  from  the  elder  people ; 
but  even  Lady  Frankland  became  fervent 
when  she  recalled  what  Charley  had  been  be- 
fore the  advent  of  the  tutor.  "What  we 
should  do  with  him  now,  if  Mr.  Campbell 
was  to  leave  and  the  house  full  of  people,  I 
tremble  to  think,"  said  the  alarmed  mother. 
When  Colin  returned  to  the  house,  it  was 
with  a  slightly  flattered  sense  of  his  own 
value  and  importance  now  to  the  young 
man, — with  a  sense,  too,  that  duty  had  fully 
acquitted  and  justified  inclination,  and  that 
he  could  not  at  the  present  moment  leave  his 
post.  This  delicious  unction  he  laid  to  his 
soul  while  it  was  still  thrilling  with  the 
glance  and  with  the  words  which  Matty,  in 
her  alarm,  had  used  to  prevent  her  slave's 
escape.  Whatever  haj^pened,  he  could  not, 
he  would  not,  go  ;  better  to  perish  with  such 
a  hope  than  to  thrive  without  it ;  and,  after 
all,  there  was  no  need  for  perishing,  and  nest 
year  Oxford  might  still  be  practicable.  So 
Colin  said  to  himself,  as  he  made  his  simple 
toilet  for  the  evening,  with  a  face  which  was 
radiant  with  secret  sunshine,  "It  was  only 
my — my  own  " —  How  had  he  intended  to 
complete  that  sentence  which  the  Frank- 
lands  took  out  of  his  mouth  ?  Was  he  going 
to  say  interest,  advantage,  peace?    The  un- 


finished words  came  to  his  mind  involunta- 
rily when  he  was  alone.  They  kept  flitting 
in  and  out,  disturbing  him  with  vague  touches 
of  uneasiness,  asking  to  be  completed.  "  My 
own — only  my  own,"  Colin  said  to  himself 
as  he  went  down-stairs.  He  was  saying  over 
the  words  softly  as  he  came  to  a  landing, 
upon  which  there  was  a  great  blank  stair- 
case-window reaching  down  to  the  floor,  and 
darkly  filled  at  this  present  moment  with  a 
gray  waste  of  sky  and  tumbling  clouds,  with 
a  wild  wind  visibly  surging  through  the 
vacant  atmosphere,  and  conveying  almost  to 
the  eye  in  palpable  vision  an  equal  demon- 
stration of  its  presence  as  it  did  to  the  ear. 

"  My  own — only  my  own.  I  wonder  what 
you  mean  :  the  words  sound  quite  sentimen- 
tal," said  Miss  Matty,  suddenly  appearing  at 
Colin's  side,  with  a  light  in  her  hand.  The 
young  man  was  moved  strangely;  he  could 
not  tell  why.  "  I  meant  my  own  life,  I  be- 
lieve," he  said  with  a  sudden  impulse,  un- 
awares; "only  my  own  life,"  and  went 
down  the  next  flight  of  stairs  before  the 
young  lady,  not  knowing  what  he  was  about. 
When  he  came  to  himself,  and  stood  back, 
blushing  with  hot  shame,  to  let  her  pass,  the 
words  came  back  in  a  dreary  whirl,  as  if  the 
wind  had  taken  them  up  and  tossed  them  at 
him,  out  of  that  wild  windowful  of  night. 
His  life — only  his  life  ;  was  that  what  he  had 
put  in  comparison  with  Charley's  temper  and 
Matty's  vanity,  and  given  up  with  enthusi- 
asm? Something  chill,  like  a  sudden  cold 
current  through  his  veins,  ran  to  Colin's  heart 
for  a  moment.  Next  minute  he  was  in  the 
room,  where  bright  lights,  and  lively  talk, 
and  all  the  superficial  cordiality  of  prosperity 
and  good-humor  filled  the  atmosphere  round 
him.  Whatever  the  stake  had  been,  the  cast 
was  over  and  the  decision  made. 

CHAPTER  xvin. 
The  Christmas  guests  began  to  arrive  at 
Wodensbourne  on  the  same  day  that  Colin 
concluded  this  sacrifice ;  and  for  some  days 
the  tutor  had  scant  measure  of  that  society 
which  had  lured  him  to  the  relinquishment 
even  of  his  "life."  When  the  house  was 
full  of  people,  Matty  found  a  thousand  oc- 
cupations in  which  of  necessity  Colin  had 
no  share, — not  to  say  that  the  young  lady 
felt  it  a  matter  of  prudence,  after  she 
had  accepted  his  sacrifice,  to  be  as  little 
as   possible  in   his  society.     It  was  pleas- 


80 

ant  enough  to  feel  her  power,  and  to  know 
that  for  her  invaluable  smile  the  boy  had  bar- 
tered his  independent  career  ;  but  to  put  him 
in  the  vray  of  claiming  any  reward  for  his  of- 
fering would  have  been  exceedingly  incon- 
venient to  Matty.  lie  paid  the  full  penalty 
accordingly  for  at  least  a  week  thereafter, 
and  had  abundant  opportunity  of  counting 
the  cost  and  seeing  what  he  had  done.  It 
was  not  exhilarating  to  spend  the  mornings 
with  Charley,  to  answer  his  sharp  questions, 
to  satisfy  his  acute  but  superficial  mind, — in 
which  curiosity  Avas  everything,  and  thought 
scarcely  existed, — and  to  feel  that  for  this 
he  had  given  up  all  that  was  individual  in 
his  life.  lie  had  left  his  own  university  ;  he 
had  given  up  the  chance  of  going  to  Oxford  ; 
he  had  separated  himself  from,  his  companions, 
and  given  up  his  occupations — all  for  the 
pleasure  of  teaching  Charley,  of  standing  in 
a  corner  of  the  Wodensbournc  drawing-room, 
and  feeling  acutely  through  every  fibre  of 
his  sensitive  Scotch  frame  that  he  was  the 
tutor,  and  stood  accordingly  in  about  as 
much  relationship  to  the  society  in  which 
he  found  himself  as  if  he  had  been  a  New 
Zealand  chief.  Colin,  however,  had  made 
up  his  mind,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it 
now  but  to  consent  and  accept  his  fate.  But 
it  was  astonishing  how  different  things  looked 
from  that  corner  of  the  drawing-room,  un- 
speakably different  from  the  aspect  they  bore 
when  Colin  himself  was  the  only  stranger 
present,  and  even  different  from  the  state  of 
affairs  after  Harry  came  home,  when  the  tu- 
tor had  been  thrown  into  the  shade,  and  a 
fever  of  excitement  and  jealousy  had  taken  pos- 
session of  Colin's  breast.  He  was  very  young, 
and  was  not  used  to  society.  When  Matty 
addressed  to  her  cousin  the  same  witcheries, 
which  she  had  expended  on  her  worshipper, 
the  young  man  was  profoundly  wretched  and 
jealous  beyond  description.  But  when  he 
saw  her  use  the  same  wiles  with  others,  lav- 
ishing freely  the  smiles  which  had  been  so 
precious  to  his  deluded  fancy  upon  one  and 
another,  a  painful  wonder  seized  the  mind  of 
Colin.  To  stand  in  that  corner  possessed  by 
one  object  was  to  be  behind  the  scenes.  Co- 
lin was  mortal ;  he  had  made  a  great  sacri- 
fice, and  he  was  glad  to  have  made  it ;  but 
he  could  not  forget  it,  nor  stand  at  his  case, 
accepting  the  civilities  that  might  be  offered 
him  like  another.  At  first  he  expected  the 
equivalent    which   he    imagined    had    been 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


pledged  to  him,  and  when  he  found  out  hie 
mistake  in  that,  he  discovered  also  how  im- 
possible it  was  to  refrain  from  a  feeling  of 
injury,  a  jealous  consciousness  of  inadequate 
appreciation.  He  himself  knew,  if  nobody 
else  did,  the  price  at  which  he  had  bouglit 
those  siren  smiles,  and  under  these  circum- 
stances to  stand  by  and  sec  them  bestowed 
upon  others,  was  an  experience  whicli  con- 
veyed wonderful  insight  to  Colin's  inexperi- 
enced eyes.  If  ^liss  Matty  saw  him  at  all, 
she  saw  him  in  tlie  corner,  and  gave  him  a 
nod  and  a  smile  in  passing,  which  she  thought 
quite  enough  to  keep  him  happy  for  the  time 
being  ;  for,  unluckily,  the  professors  of  this 
art  of  fascination,  both  male  and  female, 
are  apt  now  and  then  to  deceive  themselves 
in  the  extent  of  their  own  powers.  While 
Matty  was  so  perfectly  easy  in  her  mind  about 
the  tall  figure  in  the  corner,  he,  for  his  part, 
was  watciiing  her  with  feelings  which  it 
would  be  very  hard  to  describe.  His  very 
admiration,  the  sincerity  of  his  love,  intensi- 
fied the  smouldering  germs  of  disappointment 
anck  disgust  of  which  he  became  uneasily  con- 
scious as  he  stood  and  watched.  He  saw  by 
glimpses  "the  very  heart  of  the  machine" 
from  that  unnoticed  observatory.  He  saw 
how  she  distributed  and  divided  her  bright 
looks,  her  playful  talk ;  he  perceived  how 
she  exerted  herself  to  be  more  and  more 
charming  if  any  victim  proved  refractory  and 
was  slow  to  yield.     Had   Colin   been   kept 

I  more  perfectly  in  hand  himself,  had  she  de- 
voted a  little  more  time,  a  little  more  pains 
to  him,  it  is  probable  that  the  sweet  flattery 

]  would  have  prevailed,  and  that  he  might  Iiave 
forgiven  her  the  too  great  readiness  she 
showed  to  please  others.  But,  as  it  was,  the 
glamour  died  out  of  Colin's  eyes,  ray  by  ray, 

'  and  bitter  in  the  consciousness  of  all  he  had 
sacrificed,  he  began  to  find  out  how  little  the 
reward,  even  could  he  have  obtained  it,  was 

I  worth  the  price.  The  process  was  slow ;  but 
it  went  on  night  by  night — and  night  by 
night,  as  the  disenchantment  progressed,  Co- 

'  lin  became  more  and  more  unhappy.  It  was 
wretched  to  see  the  sweet  illusion  which  had 
made  life  so  beautiful  disappearing  under 
his  very  eyes  and  to  feel  that  the  enchant- 
ment, which  had  to  him  been  so  irresistible, 
was  a  conscious  and  studied  art,  which  could 
be  used  just  when  the  possessor  pleased,  with 
as  much  coolness  as  if  it  had  been  the  art  of 
embroidery  or  any  other  feminine  handicraft. 


A    SON    OF  THE    SOIL. 


81 


A  wise  spectator  might,  and  probably  would, 
Lave  said,  that  to  learn  this  lesson  was  the 
best  thing  possible  for  Colin ;  but  that  did 
not  make  it  the  less  cruel,  the  less  bitter.  In 
his  corner  the  young  man  gradually  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  fierce  misanthropy 
of  outraged  youth,  that  misanthropy  which 
is  as  warm  a  protest  against  common  worldli- 
ness  as  the  first  enthusiasin.  But  his  heart 
was  not  yet  released,  though  his  eyes  were 
becoming  enlightened, — reason  works  slowly 
against  love, — and  bitter  at  the  bottom  of  all 
lay  the  sense  of  the  sacrifice,  which  was  only 
his  life. 

A  few  days  after  Christmas,  a  party  of  the 
young  men  staying  at  Wodensbourne  were 
bound  upon  a  boating  expedition,  to  decide 
some  bet  which  bore  remotely  upon  one  of 
the  greatest  events  of  the  university  year, — 
the  great  match  between  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge. Harry  Frankland,  who  was  an  Ox- 
ford man,  though  the  spires  of  Cambridge 
might  almost  have  been  visible  from  his 
father's  park,  had  there  been  any  eminence 
high  enough  to  afford  a  view,  was  deeply  in- 
terested on  the  side  of  his  own  university  ; 
and  some  unfortunate  youths,  belated  at  Cam- 
bridge during  the  holidays  for  want  of  friends, 
or  money,  or  some  other  needful  adjunct  of 
festival-keeping,  were  but  too  glad  to  seize 
the  opportunity  of  a  day's  pleasure.  Colin 
never  knew  how  it  was  that  he  came  to  be 
asked  to  join  the  party.  Though  Harry's 
jealousy  was  gone,  for  the  moment  at  least, 
there  was  not  even  a  pretence  of  friendship 
between  the  tutor  and  the  heir.  Nor  could 
Colin  ever  explain  how  it  was  that  he  con- 
sented to  go  ,  for  scores  of  objections  naturally 
presented  themselves  at  the  first  proposal. 
He  was  sensitive,  affronted,  feeling  deeply 
his  false  position,  and  ready  to  receive  with 
suspicion  any  overtures  of  friendliness  from 
any  man  possessed  by  a  benevolent  wish  to  be 
kind  to  the  tutor.  It  was,  however,  his  fate 
to  go,  and  the  preliminaries  arranged  them- 
selves somehow. 

They  started  on  a  frosty  bright  morning, 
when  the  trees  of  the  park  were  still  only 
emerging  from  mists  tinted  red  by  the  sun- 
shine, a  joyous,  rather  noisy  party ;  they 
were  to  walk  to  the  river,  which  was  about 
sis  miles  off,  and,  when  their  business  was 
decided,  to  lunch  at  a  favorite  haunt  of  the 
Cambridge  undergraduates.  Lady  Frank- 
land,  who  did  not  much  approve  of  the  expe- 


dition, gave  them  many  counsels  about  the 
way.  "  I  wish  you  would  drive  and  get 
back  by  daylight,"  she  said;  "otherwise  I 
know  you  will  be  taking  that  path  across  the 
fields," 

"  "What  path?  "  said  some  one  present ; 
"  if  there  is  one  specially  objectionable,  we 
will  be  sure  to  take  it." 

"  I  would  not  if  I  were  you,"  said  Miss 
Matty.  "  There  is  a  nasty  canal  in  the  way ; 
if  you  pass  it  after  it  is  dark,  some  of  you 
will  certainly  fall  in.  It  would  be  a  pity  to 
be  drowned  in  such  a  slimy,  shabby  way. 
Much  better  have  all  sorts  of  dog-carts  and 
things,  and  drive  back  in  time  for  a  cup  of 
tea." 

At  which  speech  there  was  a  general  laugh . 
"Matty  would  give  her  soul  for  a  cup  of 
tea,"  said  her  cousin.  "  What  a  precious 
fright  you'll  all  be  in  if  we're  late  for  din- 
ner. I  ought  to  know  all  about  the  canal  by 
this  time.  Come  along.  It's  too  cold  to 
think  of  drowning,"  said  Harry  Frankland, 
with  a  filial  nod  of  leave-taking  to  his  mother. 
As  for  IMatty,  she  went  to  the  door  with  them 
to  see  them  go  off,  as  did  some  others  of  the 
ladies.  Matty  lifted  her  pretty  cloak  side- 
ways and  stretched  out  her  hand  into  the 
frosty  atmosphere  as  if  to  feel  for  rain. 

"  I  thought  I  saw  some  drops,"  she  said  ; 
"  it  would  be  frightful  if  it  came  on  to  rain 
now,  and  spoiled  our  chances  of  skating. 
Good-morning,  and,  whatever  you  do,  I  beg 
of  you  don't  get  drowned  in  the  canal.  It 
would  be  such  a  shabby  way  of  making  an 
end  of  one's  self,"  said  Matty.  When  she 
looked  up,  she  caught  Colin's  eye,  who  was 
the  last  to  leave  the  house.  She  was  in  the 
humor  to  be  kind  to  him  at  that  moment. 
"  Shall  I  say  good-by  or  farewell?  "  she  said, 
softly,  with  that  look  of  special  confidence 
which  Colin,  notwithstanding  his  new  en- 
lightenment, had  no  heart  to  resist. 

"You  shall  say  what  you  please,"  said 
Colin,  lingering  on  the  step  beside  her.  The 
young  man  was  in  a  kind  of  desperate  mood. 
Perhaps  he  liked  to  show  his  companions  that 
he,  too,  could  have  his  turn. 

"  Good-by — farewell,"  said  Matty,  "  but 
then  that  implies  shaking  hands  ;  ' '  and  she 
gave  him  her  pretty  hand  with  a  little  laugh, 
making  it  appear  to  the  group  outside  that 
the  clownish  tutor  had  insisted  upon  that 
unnecessary  ceremony.  "  But  whatever  you 
please  to  say,  I  like  au  revoir  best,"  said  Miss 


82 


A    SON    OF*  THE    SOIL. 


Matty;  "  it  does  not  even  suggest  parting." 
And  she  waved  lier  hand  as  she  turned  away. 
*'  Till  we  meet  again,"  said  the  little  en- 
chantress. It  might  be  to  him  especially,  or 
it  might  he  to  all,  that  she  made  this  little 
gesture  of  farewell .  Anyhow ,  Colin  followed 
the  others  with  indescribable  sensations.  He 
no  longer  believed  in  her  ;  but  her  presence, 
her  looks,  her  words,  had  still  mastery  over 
him.  He  had  walked  half  the  way  before 
the  fumes  of  that  leave-taking  had  gone  out 
of  his  brain,  though  most  part  of  the  time 
he  was  keeping  up  a  conversation  about 
things  in  general  with  the  stupidest  of  the 
party,  who  kept  pertinaciously  by  the  tutor's 
side. 

The  day  went  off  with  considerable  satis- 
faction to  all  the  party,  and,  as  Colin  and 
Frankland  did  not  come  much  in  contact, 
there  was  little  opportunity  for  displaying 
the  spirit  of  opposition  and  contradiction 
which  existed  between  them.  Fortunately, 
Colin  was  not  at  hand  to  hear  Harry's  stric- 
tures upon  his  method  of  handling  the  oats, 
nor  did  Frankland  perceive  the  smile  of  con- 
temptuous recollection  which  came  upon  the 
tutor's  face  as  he  observed  how  tenderly  the 
heir  of  TVodensbourne  stepped  into  the  boat, 
keeping  clear  of  the  wet  as  of  old.  "  That 
fellow  has  not  a  bit  of  science,"  said  young 
Frankland  ;  "  he  expects  mere  strength  to 
do  everything.  Look  how  he  holds  his  oar. 
It  never  occurs  to  him  that  he  is  in  anything 
lighter  than  a  Highland  fishing-cobble.  What 
on  earth,  I  wonder,  made  us  bring  him 
here?  " 

"  Science  goes  a  great  way,"  said  the  most 
skilled  oarsman  of  the  party  ;  "  but  I'd  like 
to  have  the  training  of  Campbell  all  the 
same.  He  talks  of  going  to  Balliol,  and  I 
shall  write  to  Cox  about  him." 

"  What  a  chest  the  fellow  has,"  said  the 
admiring  spectators.  Meanwhile  Colin  had 
not  hesitated  to  explain  his  smile. 

*'  I  smile  because  I  recollect  smiling  years 
ago,"  said  Colin.  "  See  how  Frankland  steps 
into  the  boat.  When  he  was  a  boy  he  did 
the  same.  I  remember  it,  and  it  amused 
me  ;  for  wet  feet  were  a  new  idea  to  me  in 
those  days;"  and  Colin  laughed  outright, 
and  the  eyes  of  the  two  met.  Neither  knew 
what  the  other  had  been  saytng ;  but  the  spec- 
tators perceived  without  more  words  that  the 
young  men  -svere  not  perfectly  safe  compan- 


ions for  each  other,  and  took  precautions, 
with  instinctive  comprehension  of  the  case. 

"  These  two  don't  get  on,"  said  one  of  the 
party,  under  his  breath.  "It  is  hard  upon 
a  fellow,  you  know,  to  have  another  fellow 
stuck  at  his  side  who  saved  his  life,  and  that 
sort  of  thing.  I  shouldn't  like  it  myself. 
Somebody  keep  an  eye  on  Frankland — and 
on  the  Scotch  fellow,  too,"  said  the  impar- 
tial  peacemaker.  Luckily,  neither  of  the 
two  who  were  thus  put  under  friendly  sur- 
veillance was  at  all  aware  of  the  fact,  and 
Colin  submitted,  with  as  good  a  grace  as  pos- 
sible, to  the  constant  companionship  of  the 
stupidest  and  best-humored  of  the  party, 
who  had  already  bestowed  his  attentions  and 
society  upon  the  tutor.  This  state  of  things, 
however,  did  not  endure  after  the  lunch,  a1 
which  it  was  not  possible  for  Colin  to  remain 
a  merely  humble  spectator  and  sharer  of  the 
young  men's  entertainment.  He  had  not 
been  broken  in  to  such  duty  ;  and,  excited  by 
exercise  and  the  freedom  round  him,  Colin 
could  no  more  help  talking  than  he  could 
help  the  subsequent  discovery  made  by  his 
companions  that  "  the  Scotch  fellow"  was 
very  good  company.  The  young  men  spent 
— as  was  to  be  expected — a  much  longer 
time  over  their  lunch  than  was  at  all  neces- 
sary ;  and  the  short  winter  day  was  just  over 
when  they  set  out  on  their  way  home  through 
the  evening  mists,  which  soon  deepened  into 
darkness,  very  faintly  lighted  by  a  few  doubt- 
ful stars.  Everybody  declared,  it  is  true, 
that  there  was  to  be  a  moon  ;  indeed,  it  t\d8 
with  the  distinct  understanding  that  there 
was  to  be  a  moon  that  the  party  had  started 
walking  from  Wodensbourne.  But  the  moon 
showed  herself  lamentably  indifferent  to  the 
arrangements  which  depended  on  her.  She 
gave  not  the  least  sign  of  appearing  anywhere 
in  that  vast,  windy  vault  of  sky,  which  in- 
deed had  a  little  light  in  itself,  but  could 
spare  scarcely  any  to  show  the  wayfarers 
where  they  were  going  through  the  dreary 
wintry  road  and  between  the  rustling  leafless 
hedges.  When  they  got  into  the  fields,  mat- 
ters grew  rather  worse.  It  was  hard  to  keep 
the  path,  harder  still  to  find  the  stiles  and 
Bteer  through  gaps  and  ditches.  The  high- 
road made  a  round  which  would  lead  them 
three  or  four  miles  out  of  their  way,  and 
Frankland  insisted  upon  his  own  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  by-way  by  which  they 
could    reach  Wodensbourne    in    an    hour. 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


83 


"  Mind  the  canal  we  were  warned  of  this 
morning,"  suggested  one  of  the  party,  as 
they  paused  in  the  dark  at  the  corner  of  a 
black  field  to  decide  which  way  they  should 
go.  "  Oh,  confound  the  canal ;  as  if  I  didn't 
know  every  step  of  the  way  ;  ' '  said  young 
Frankland.  "  It's  a  settled  principle  in  the 
female  mind  that  one  is  bent  upon  walking 
into  canals  whenever  one  has  an  opportunity. 
Come  along  ;  if  you're  afraid,  perhaps  Camp- 
bell will  show  you  the  other  way." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Colin,  without  the  least 
hesitation.  *'  I  have  no  wisli  to  walk  into 
the  canal,  for  my  part ;  "  upon  which  there 
was  a  universal  protest  against  parting  com- 
pany. "  Come  along,"  said  one,  who  thrust 
his  arm  through  Colin's  as  he  spoke,  but 
who  was  no  longer  the  stupid  member  of  the 
party,  "  we'll  all  take  our  chance  together  ;" 
but  he  kept  the  tutor  as  far  as  possible  fi-om 
the  line  of  Wodensbourne.  "  Frankland  and 
you  don't  seem  to  get  on,"  said  Colin's 
companion;  "yet  he's  a  very  nice  fellow 
when  you  come  to  know  him.  I  suppose  you 
must  have  had  some  misunderstanding,  eh  ? 
Wasn't  it  you  who  saved  his  life  ?  " 

"  I  never  saved  any  one's  life,"  said  Colin, 
a  little  sharply  ;  "  and  we  get  on  well  enough 
— as  well  as  is  necessary.  We  have  no  call 
to  see  much  of  each  other."  After  this  they 
all  went  on  through  the  dark  as  well  as  they 
could,  getting  into  difficulties  now  and  then, 
sometimes  collecting  together  in  a  bewildered 
group  at  a  stile  or  turning,  and  afterward 
streaming  on  in  single  file — a  succession  of 
black  figures  which  it  was  impossible  to  iden- 
tify except  by  the  voices.  Certainly  they 
made  noise  enough.  What  with  shouts  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  file,  what 
with  bursts  of  song  which  came  occasionally 
from  one  or  another  or  even  taken  up  in  up- 
roarious chorus,  the  profound  stillness  which 
enveloped  and  surrounded  them  was  com- 
pelled to  own  their  human  presence  to  the 
ear  at  least.  In  the  natural  course  of  their 
progress,  Colin  and  his  immediate  companion 
had  got  nearly  to  the  front,  when  the  laugh- 
ter and  noise  was  suddenly  interrupted.  "  I 
don't  quite  see  where  we  are  going,"  said 
Harry.  "Stop  a  bit ;  I  shouldn't  mind  go- 
ing on  myself,  but  I  don't  want  to  risk  you 
fellows  who  are  frightened  for  canals.  Look 
here  ;  the  road  ought  to  have  gone  on  at  this 
corner,  but  here's  nothing  but  a  hedge. 
Keep  where  you  are  till  I  look  out.     There's 


a  light  over  there,  but  I  can't  tell  what's  be- 
tween. 

"  Perhaps  it's  the  canal,"  said  some  one 
behind. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course  it's  the  canal,"  said 
Frankland,  with  irritation.  "  You  stand 
back  till  I  try  ;  if  I  fall  in,  it's  my  own  fault, 
which  will  be  a  consolation  to  my  friends," 
cried  the  angry  guide.  He  started  forward 
impatiently,  not,  however,  without  being 
closely  followed  by  two  or  three,  among 
whom  was  Colin. 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  Frankland,"  said  one 
voice  in  the  darkness  ;  "let  us  all  go  together 
— let  us  be  cautious.  I  feel  something  like 
gravel  under  my  feet.  Steady,  steady  ;  feel 
with  your  foot  before  you  putitdown.  Oh  ! 
good  heavens,  what  is  it  ?  "  The  voice  broke 
off  abruptly  ;  a  loud  splash  and  a  cry  ensued, 
and  the  young  men  behind  saw  the  figures 
in  advance  of  them  suddenly  drop  and  dis- 
appear. It  was  the  canal,  upon  which  they 
had  been  making  unawares.  Two  out  of  the 
four  had  only  stumbled  on  the  bank,  and  rose 
up  again  immediately  ;  and  as  those  behind, 
afraid  to  press  forward,- not  knowing  what  to 
do,  stood  appalled,  another  and  another  figure 
scrambled  up  with  difficulty,  calling  for  help 
out  of  the  water,  into  which  they  had  not, 
however  plunged  deeply  enough  to  peril  their 
lives.  Then  there  was  a  terrible  momentary 
pause. 

' '  Are  we  all  here  ?  "  said  Colin .  His  voice 
sounded  like  a  funaral  bell  pealing  through 
the  darkness.  He  knew  they  were  not  all 
there.  He,  with  his  keen  eyes,  rendered 
keener  by  opposition  and  enmity,  had  seen 
beyond  mistake  that  the  first  of  all  went  down 
and  had  not  risen  again.  The  consciousness 
made  his  voice  tragic  as  it  ran  through  the 
darkness.  Somebody  shouted,  "Yes,  yes, 
thank  God  !  "  in  reply.  It  was  only  a  second, 
but  years  of  life  rolled  up  upon  Colin  in  that 
moment  of  time, — years  of  most  troublous 
existence  behind  ;  years  of  fair  life  before. 
Should  he  let  him  die?  It  was  not  his  fault ; 
nobody  could  blame  him.  And  what  right 
had  he  to  risk  his  life  a  second  time  for 
Harry  Frankland?  All  that  a  murderer,  all 
that  a  martyr  could  feel  rushed  through  Co- 
lin's mind  in  that  instant  of  horrible  indecis- 
ion. Then  somebody  said,  "Frankland, 
Frankland!  where  is  Frankland?"  That 
voice  was  the  touch  of  fate.  With  a  strange 
shout,  of  which  he  was  unconscious,   Colin 


84 

plunged  into  the  black  invisible  stream.  By 
this  time  the  others  of  the  party  saw  with 
unspeakable  relief  lights  approaching,  and 
heard  through  the  darkness  voices  of  men 
coming  to  their  assistance.  They  were  close 
by  one  of  the  locks  of  the  canal ;  and  it  was 
the  keeper  of  it,  not  unused  to  such  accidents, 
who  came  hurrying  to  give  what  help  was 
possible.  His  lantern  and  some  torches  which 
the  anxious  young  men  managed  to  light, 
threw  a  wild  illumination  over  the  muddy, 
motionless  stream,  in  which  two  of  their  num-  , 
ber,  lately  as  gay  and  light-hearted  as  any, 
were  now  struggling  for  their  life.  The 
same  light  flared  horribly  over  the  two  mo- 
tionless figures,  which,  after  an  interval  which  | 
seemed  like  years  to  the  bystanders,  were  at 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


length  brought  out  of  the  blackness  ;  one  of 
them  still  retaining  strength  and  conscious- 
ness to  drag  the  other  with  him  up  the  stony 
margin  before  his  senses  failed.  They  lay 
silent  both,  with  pallid  faces,  upon  tho  hard 
path  ;  one  as  like  death  as  the  other,  with  a 
kind  of  stony,  ghostly  resemblance  in  their 
white  insensibility,  except  that  there  was 
blood  on  the  lips  of  one,  who  must  have 
struck,  the  lockman  said,  upon  some  part  of 
the  lock.  They  were  carried  into  the  cot- 
tage, and  hurried  messengers  sent  to  the 
nearest  doctor  and  to  Wodcnsbourne.  Mean- 
while the  two  lay  together,  pallid  and  mo- 
tionless, nobody  knowing  which  was  living 
and  which  dead. 


^ 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


PART   Til. — CHAPTER  XIX. 

Colin  never  ascertained  what  were  the 
events  immediately  succeeding  his  plunge  in- 
to the  canal  ;  all  he  could  recall  dimly  of 
that  strange  crisis  in  his  life  was  a  sense  of 
slow  motion  in  which  he  himself  was  passive, 
and  of  looking  up  at  the  stars  in  a  dark-blue, 
frosty,  winterly  sky,  with  a  vague  wonder  in 
his  mind  how  it  was  that  he  saw  them  so 
clearly,  and  whether  it  was  they  or  he  that 
moved.  Afterwards,  when  his  mind  became 
clear,  it  grew  apparent  to  him  that  he  must 
have  opened  his  eyes  for  a  moment  while  he 
was  being  carried  home  ;  but  there  inter- 
vened a  period  during  which  he  heard  noth- 
ing distinctly,  and  in  which  the  only  clear 
point  to  him  was  this  gleam  of  starlight,  and 
this  accompanying  sense  of  motion,  which 
perplexed'  his  faculties  in  his-  weakness. 
While  he  lay  feverish  and  unconscious,  he 
kept  repeating,  to  the  amazement  of  the  by- 
standers, two  stray  lines  which  had  no  ap- 
parent connection  with  any  of  the  circum- 
stances surrounding  him. 

"  Each  with  its  little  space  of  sky, 
And  little  lot  of  stars," 

poor  Colin  said  to  himself  over  and  over, 
without  knowing  it.  It  liad  been  only  for  a 
moment  that  he  opened  his  eyes  out  of  the 
torpor  which  was  all  but  death  ;  but  that  mo- 
ment was  enough  to  color  all  the  wanderings 
of  his  mind  while  still  the  weakness  of  the 
body  dominated  and  overpowered  it.  Like 
a  pietui-e  or  a  dream,  he  kept  in  his  recol- 
lection the  sharp,  frosty  glimmer,  the  cold 
twinkling  of  those  passionless,  distant  lights, 
and  with  it  a  sense  of  rushing  air  and  univer- 
sal chill,  and  a  sound  and  sense  of  wending 
his  way  between  rustling  hedges,  though  all 
the  while  he  was  immovable.  That  feeling 
remained  with  him  till  he  woke  from  a  long 
sleep  one  afternoon  when  the  twilight  was 
setting  in,  and  found  himself  in  a  room 
which  was  not  his  own  room,  lying  in  a 
great  bed  hung  with  crimson  curtains,  which 
were  made  still  more  crimson  by  a  ruddy 
glow  of  firelight,  which  flashed  reflections 
out  of  the  great  mirror  opposite  the  end  of 
the  bed.  Colin  lay  awhile  in  a  pause  of 
wonder  and  admiration  when  he  woke.  The 
starlight  went  out  of  his  eyes  and  the  chill 
out  of  his  frame,  and  a  certain  sense  of  lan- 
guid comfort  came  over  him.  When  he 
said,  "Where  am  I?"    faintly,  in  a  voice 


85 

which  he  could  scarcely  recognize  for  his  own, 
two  woman  rose  hastily  and  approached  him. 
One  of  these  was  Jliady  Frankland,  the  other 
a  nurse.     While  the  attendant  hurried  for- 
ward to  see  if  he  wanted  anything,  Lady 
Frankland  took   his   hand    and   pressed  it 
warmly  in  both  hers,     "  You  shall  hear  all' 
about  it  to-morrow,"  she  said,  with  the  tears 
in  her  eyes;  "now   you  will  do  well;  but 
you  must  not  exert  yourself  to-night.     We 
have  all  been  so  anxious  about  you.     Hush, 
hush !     You  must  take  this ;  you  must  not 
ask  any  more   questions  to-night."     What 
he  had  to  take  was  some  warm  jelly,  of 
which  he  swallowed  a  little,  with  wonder  and 
difficulty.     lie  did  not  understand  what  had 
befallen,  or  how  he  had  been  reduced  to  this 
invalid  condition.     "  Hush,  hush  !  you  must 
not  ask  any  questions  to-night,"  said  Lady 
Frankland ;  and  she  went  to  the  door  as  if 
to  leave  the  room,  and  then  came  back  again 
and  bent  over  Colin  and  kissed  his  forehead, 
with  her  eyes  shining  through  tears.     "  God 
bless  you  and  reward  you  !  "  she  said,  smil- 
ing and    crying  over  him;    "you  will  do 
well  now  ;  you  have  a  mother's  blessing  and 
a  mother's  prayers  ;  "  and  with  these  strange 
words  she  went  away  hastily,  as  if  not  trust- 
ing herself  to  say  more.     Colin  lay  back  on^ 
his  pillow  with  his  mind  full  of  wonder,  and, 
catching  at  the  clew  she  had  given  him,  made 
desperate,  feeble  efforts  to  piece  it  out,  and 
get  back  again  into  his  life.     He  found  it  so 
hard  fighting  through  that  moment  of  star- 
light which  still  haunted  him  that  he  had  to 
go  to  sleep  upon  it,  but  by  and  by  woke  up 
again  when  all  was  silent, — when  the  light 
was  shaded,  and  the  nurse  reclining  in  an 
easy-chair,  and  everything  betokened  night, — 
and  lying  awake  for  an  hour  or  two,  at  last  be- 
gan to  gather  himself  up,  and  recollect  what 
had  happened.     He  had  almost  leaped  from 
his  bed  when  he  recalled  the  scene  by  the  ca- 
nal,— his  conviction,  that  Frankland  had  gone 
down,  his  own  desperate  plunge.     But  Colin 
was  past  leaping  from  his  bed,  for  that  time 
at  least.     He  followed  out  this  recollection, 
painfully  trying  to  think  what  had  occurred. 
AVas  Harry  Frankland  alive  or  dead  ?    Had 
he    himself  paused  too  long  on  the  brink, 
and  was  the  heir  of  Wodensbourne  gone  out 
of  all  his  privileges  and  superiorities?    That 
was  the  interpretation  that  appeared  most 
likely  to  Colin.     It  seemed  to  him  to  explain 
Lady  Frankland 's  tears  and  pathos  of  grati- 


86 

tude.  The  tutor  had  euffercd  in  his  attempt 
to  save  the  son,  and  the  parents,  moved  by 
the  tenderness  of  grief,  ware  thankful  for  his 
ineffectual  efforts.  xVs  he  lay  awake  in  the 
silence,  it  appeared  to  him  that  this  was  the 
explanation,  and  he,  too,  thought  with  a  cer- 
tain pathos  and  compunction  of  Harry, — his 
instinctive  rival,  his  natural  opponent.  "Was 
it  thus  .he  had  fallen,  so  near  the  begin- 
ning of  the  way, — snatched  out  of  the  life 
which  had  so  many  chai-cis,  so  many  advan- 
tages for  him?  As  Colin  lay  alone  in  the 
silence,  his  thoughts  went  out  to  that  un- 
known life  into  which  he  could  not  but 
imagine  the  other  young  man,  who  was  yes- 
terday—  was  it  yesterday?  —  as  strong  and 
lifelike  as  himself,  had  passed  so  suddenly. 
Life  had  never  seemed  so  fair,  so  bright,  so 
hop3ful  to  himself  as  while  he  thus  followed 
with  wistful  eyes  the  imaginary  path  of  Har- 
ry into  the  unknown  awe  and  darkness. 
The  thought  touched  him  deeply,  profoundly, 
with  wistful  pity,  with  wonder  and  inquiry. 
Where  was  he  now,  this  youth  who  had  so 
lately  been  by  his  side?  Had  he  found  out 
those  problems  that  trouble  men  for  their  life 
long?  Had  existence  grown  already  clear 
and  intelligible  to  the  eyes  which  in  this 
world  had  cared  but  little  to  investigate  its 
mysteries  ? 

"While  Colin 's  mind  was  thus  occupied,  it 
occurred  to  him  suddenly  to  wonder  why  he 
himself  was  so  ill  and  so  feeble.  He  had 
no  inclination  to  get  up  from  the  bed  on 
which  he  lay.  Sometimes  he  coughed,  and 
the  cough  pained  him ;  his  very  breathing 
was  a  fatigue  to  him  now  and  then.  As  he 
lay  pondering  this  new  thought,  curious 
half-recollections,  as  of  things  that  had  hap- 
pened in  a  dream,  came  into  Colin's  mind  ; 
visions  of  doctors  examining  some  one, — he 
scarcely  knew  whether  it  was  himself  or  an- 
other,— and  of  conversations  that  had  been 
held  over  his  bed.  As  he  struggled  through 
these  confusing  mazes  of  recollection  or  im- 
agination, his  head  began  to  ache  and  his 
heart  to  beat ;  and  finally  his  uneasy  move- 
ments woke  the  nurse,  who  was  alarmed,  and 
would  not  listen  to  any  of  the  questions  he 
addressed  to  her. 

"  My  lady  told  you  as  you'd  hear  every- 
thing to-morrow,"  said  Colin's  attendant ; 
"  for  goodness  gracious'  sake,  take  your 
draught,  do,  and  lie  still;  and  don't  go  a- 
moidering  and  a-bothering,  and  take  away  a 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


poor  woman's  character,  as  was  never  known 
to  fall  asleep  before,  nor  wouldn't  but  for 
thinking  you  was  better  and  didn't  want 
nothing."  It  was  strange  to  the  vigorous 
young  man,  who  had  never  been  in  the  hands 
of  a  nurse  in  his  life,  to  feel  himself  con- 
strained to  obey, — to  feel,  indeed,  that  he 
had  no  power  to  resist,  but  was  reduced  to 
utter  humiliation  and  dependence,  he  could 
not  tell  how.  He  fell  asleep  afterward,  and 
dreamed  of  Harry  Frankland  drowning,  and 
of  himself  going  down,  down  through  the 
muddy,  black  water — always  down,  in  giddy 
circles  of  descent,  as  if  it  were  bottomless. 
"\^'hen  he  awoke  again,  it  was  morning,  and 
his  attendant  was  putting  his  room  to  right^, 
and  disposed  to  regard  himself  with  more 
friendly  eyes.  "  Don't  you  go  disturbing  of 
yourself,  "  said  the  nurse,  "  and  persuad- 
ing of  the  doctor  as  you  aint  no  better. 
You're  a  deal  better,  if  he  did  but  know  it. 
"What's  come  to  you  ?  It's  all  along  of  fall- 
ing in  the  canal  that  night  along  of  Mr. 
Harry.  If  you  takes  care  and  don't  get  no 
more  cold,  you'll  do  well." 

"  Along  with  Mr.  Harry — poor  Harry  ! — 
and  he" —  said  Colin.  His  own  voice 
sounded  very  sti'ange  to  him,  thin  and  far-off, 
like  a  shadow  of  its  former  self.  When  he 
asked  this  question,  the  profoundest  wistful 
pity  filled  the  young  man's  heart.  He  was 
sorry  to  the  depths  of  his  soul  for  the  other 
life  which  had,  he  supposed,  gone  out  in 
darkness.  "  Poor  Frankland  !  "  he  repeated 
to  himself,  with  an  action  of  mournful  regret. 
He  had  been  saved,  and  the  other  lost.  So 
he  thought,  and  the  thought  went  to  his 
heart. 

"Mr.  Harry  was  saved,  sir,  when  you  was 
drownded,"  said  the  nurse,  who  was  totally 
unconscious  of  Colin's  feelings;  "he's  fine 
and  hearty  again,  is  Mr.  Harry.  Bless  you, 
a  ducking  aint  nothing  to  him.  As  for  you," 
continued  the  woman,  going  calmly  about  her 
occupations, — "  they  say  it  wasn't  the  drown- 
ing, it  was  the  striking  against  " — 

"  I  understand,"  said  Colin.  He  stopped 
her  further  explanations  with  a  curious 
sharpness  which  he  was  not  responsible  for, 
at  which  he  himself  wondered.  "Was  not  he 
glad  that  Harry  Frankland  lived  ?  But  then, 
to  be  sure,  there  came  upon  him  the  everlast- 
ing contrast, — the  good  fortune  and  unfiling 
luck  of  his  rival,  who  was  well  and  hearty, 
while  Colin,  who  would  have  been  in  no  dan- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


ger  but  for  him,  lay  helpless  in  bed !  He 
began  to  chafe  at  himself,  as  he  lay,  angry 
and  helpless,  submitting  to  the  nurse's  at- 
tentions. What  a  poor  weakling  anybody 
must  think  him,  to  fall  ill  of  the  ducking 
•which  had  done  no  harm  to  Harry  !  He  felt 
ridiculous,  contemptible,  weak, — which  was 
the  worst  of  all, — thinking  with  impatience 
of  the  thanks,  which,  presently.  Lady  Frank- 
land  would  come  to  pay  him,  and  the  renew- 
ed obligations  of  which  the  family  would  be 
conscious.  If  he  only  could  get  up,  and  get 
back  to  his  own  room !  But,  when  he  made 
the  attempt,  Colin  was  glad  enough  to  fall 
back  again  upon  his  pillows,  wondering  and 
dismayed.  Harry  was  well,  and  had  taken 
no  harm  ;  what  could  be  the  meaning  of  his 
sudden,  iinlooked-for  weakness? 

Lady  Frankland  came  into  the  room,  as  he 
had  foreseen,  while  it  was  still  little  more 
than  daylight  of  the  winter  morning.  She 
had  always  been  kind  to  Colin, — indifferent- 
ly, amiably  kind,  for  the  most  part,  with  a 
goodness  which  bore  no  particular  reference 
to  him,  but  sprung  from  her  own  disposition 
solely.  This  time  there  was  a  change.  She 
sat  down  by  his  side  with  nervous,  wistful 
looks,  with  an  anxious,  almost  frightened 
expression.  She  asked  him  how  he  was,  with 
a  kind  of  tremulous  tenderness,  and  question- 
ed the  nurse  as  to  how  he  had  slept.  "  I  am 
80  glad  to  hear  you  have  had  a  refreshing 
sleep,"  she  said,  with  an  anxious  smile,  and 
even  laid  her  soft  white  hand  upon  Colin's, 
and  caressed  it  as  his  own  mother  might 
have  done,  while  she  questioned  his  face,  his 
aspect,  his  looks,  with  the  speechless  scrutiny 
of  an  anxious  woman.  Somehow,  these 
looks,  which  were  so  solicitous  and  wistful, 
made  Colin  more  impatient  than  ever. 

' '  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  why  I  am 
lying  here,"  he  said,  with  a  forced  smile ; 
"  I  used  to  think  I  could  stand  a  ducking  as 
well  as  most  people.  It  is  humiliating  to 
find  myself  laid  up  like  a  child,  by  a  touch 
of  cold  water ' ' — 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Campbell,  pray  don't  say  so  !  " 
said  Lady  Frankland  ;  "it  was  not  the  cold 
water;  you  know  you  struck  against —  Oh, 
how  can  we  thank  you  enough  ! — how  can  I 
even  now  express  my  gratitude !  "  said  the 
poor  lady,  grasping  his  hands  in  both  hers, 
her  eyes  filling  unawares  with  tears. 

"  There  is  no  need  for  gratitude,"  said 


87 

Colin ,  drawing  away  his  hand  with  an  impa- 
tience that  he  could  not  have  explained.  "  I 
am  sorry  to  find  myself  such  a  poor  creature 
that  I  have  to  be  nursed,  and  give  you  trou- 
ble. Your  son  is  all  right,  I  hear."  Thig 
he  said  with  an  effort  at  friendliness,  which 
cost  him  some  trouble.  He  scorned  .to  seem 
to  envy  the  young  favorite  of  fortune  ;  but, 
it  was  annoying  to  feel  that  the  strength  he 
was  secretly  proud  of  had  given  way  at 
so  slight  a  trial.  He  turned  his  face  a  little 
more  towards  the  wall,  and  away  from  Har- 
ry's mother,  as  he  spoke. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Lady  Frankland,  "  he  is 
quite  weU,  and  he  is  very,  very  grateful  to 
you,  dear  Mr.  Campbell.  Believe  me,  we 
are  all  very  grateful.  Harry  is  so  shy,  and 
he  has  never  once  had  an  opportunity  to 
pay  you  that — that  attention  which  you  de- 
serve at  his  hands,  and  it  showed  such  noble 
and  disinterested  regard  on  your  part ' ' — 

"  Pray,  don't  say  so,"  said  Colin,  abrupt- 
ly ;  "you  make  me  uncomfortable;  there 
was  no  regard  whatever  in  the  case." 

"  Ah,  yes !  you  say  so  to  lighten  our  sense 
of  obligation , ' '  said  Lady  Frankland .  "  It  is 
so  good,  so  kind  of  you  !  And  when  I  think 
what  it  has  made  you  suffer, — but  I  am  sure 
you  will  believe  that  there  is  nothing  we 
would  not  do  to  show  our  gratitude.  If  you 
were  our  own  son,  neither  Sir  Thomas  nor  I 
could  be  more  anxious.  "We  have  sent  for 
Sir  Apsley  "Wen down,  and  I  hope  he  will  ar- 
rive to-day ;  and  we  have  sent  for  your  dear 
mother,  Mr.  Campbell." 

"My  mother?"  said  Colin.  He  was  so 
much  startled  that  he  raised  himself  up  on 
his  pillows  without  thinking,  and  as  he  did 
so,  was  seized  by  a  horrible  pain  which  took 
away  his  bi'eath.  "  Sir  Apsley  Wendown 
and  my  mother?  What  does  it  mean?  "  the 
young  man  said,  gasping,  as  he  managed  to 
slide  dovm  again  into  his  former  recumbent 
position.  "Am  I  ill  ?  or  does  all  this  commo- 
tion arise  simply  from  an  unlooked-for  duck- 
ing, and  a  knock  against  the  side  of  the  ca- 
nal ?  "  He  got  this  out  with  difficulty,  though 
he  strode  with  all  his  might  to  conceal  the 
trouble  it  gave  him ;  then  he  turned  his 
eyes  to  Lady  Frankland,  who  sat  wringing 
her  hands,  and  full  of  agitation  by  his  bed- 
side. The  poor  lady  had  altogether  lost  her 
good-natured  and  amiable  composure .  What- 
ever she  had  to  say  to  him, — whatever  the 


88 


A     SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


character  of  th«  communication  might  be, 
disturbed  her  greatly.  She  wrung  her  hands, 
gave  a  painful,  hurried  glance  at  him,  and 
then  withdrew  her  eyes  from  his  inquiring 
looks.  All  this  time,  Colin  lay  impatient, 
looking  at  her,  wondering,  with  a  sharp  sen- 
sation of  anger,  what  she  could  have  to  say. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Campbell,"  she  said  at  length, 
■'  you  are  ill ;  you  have  been  wandering  and 
insensible.  Oh,  it  is  hard  to  think  you  are 
suffering  for  your  goodness, — suffering  for  us ! 
We  could  not  trust  you  to  our  doctor  here 
after  we  knew  ;  we  thought  it  best  to  have 
the  best  advice,  and  we  thought  you  would 
prefer  to  have  your  mother.  I  would  have 
nursed  you  myself  and  tended  you  night  and 
day,"  said  Lady  Frankland,  with  enthusi- 
asm ;  "I  owe  you  that  and  a  great  deal 
more, — you  who  have  saved  my  dear  boy." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  me  ?"  said  Colin. 
It  appeared  to  him  as  if  a  great  cloud  was 
rolling  up  over  the  sky,  throwing  upon  him  a 
strange  and  ominous  shadow.  He  scarcely 
heard  what  she  said.  He  did  not  pay  any 
attention  to  her.  What  was  Henry  Frank- 
land's  mother  to  him,  or  her  thanks,  or  the 
things  she  was  willing  to  do  to  show  her 
gratitude  ?  He  wanted  to  know  why  he  was 
lying  there  powerless,  unable  to  move  him- 
self. That  was  the  first  thing  to  be  thought 
of.  As  for  Lady  Frankland,  she  wrung  her 
hands  again,  and  hesitated  more  and   more. 

"  I  hope  God  will  reward  you!"  said  the 
agitated  woman  ;  "  I  would  give  everything 
I  have  in  the  world  to  see  you  well  and 
strong  as  you  were  when  you  came  here. 
Oh,  Mr.  Campbell,  if  you  only  could  know 
the  feeling  that  is  in  all  our  hearts  !  "  It 
was  her  kindness,  her  rekictance  to  give  him 
pain,  her  unfeigned  distress,  that  made  her 
prolong  Colin's  suspense,  and  drive  him  fran- 
tic with  these  exasperating  professions  of  re- 
gard, for  which,  true  as  they  doubtlci-s  were, 
he  did  not  care. 

"  I  suppose  I've  broken  some  of  my 
bones,"  said  Colin  ;  "  it  would  be  real  kind- 
ness if  you  would  tell  me  what  is  the  matter. 
Will  it  take  a  long  time  to  mend  E|^e  ?  I 
should  be  glad  to  know,  at  least,  what  it  is." 

Impelled  by  his  looks  and  his  tone,  Lady 
Frankland  burst  into  her  statement  at  last. 
"  You  have  broken  some  of  your  ribs,"  she 
said  ;  "  but  I  don't  think  that  is  of  so  much 
importance  ;  Sir  Apslcy,  when  he  comes,  will 
tell  us.     He  is  coming  to-day  and  you  are 


looking  so  much   better.     It  was  old  Mr. 
Eyre  who  gave  us  such  a  fright  yesterday. 
He  said  your  lungs  had  been  injured  some- 
how, and  that  you  might  never — that  it  might 
be  a  long  time — that  it  might  keep  you  del- 
icate ;   but  even  if  that  were  the  case,  with 
care  and  a  warm  climate — oh,  Mr.  Campbell ! 
I  think  he  is  mistaken  ;    he  is  always  such  a 
croaker.     I  tliink — I  hope — I  am  almost  sure 
Sir  Apsley  will  set  you  all  right." 
:      Again  Colin  had  risen  in  his  bed  with  a 
'  little  start.     This  time  he  was  scarcely  sensi- 
ble of  the  pain  which  every  motion  caused 
him.     He  fancied  afterwards  that  for  that 
moment  his  heart  stood  still  in  his  bosom, 
and  the  pulses  in  his  veins  stopped  beating. 
The  shock  was  so  strange,  so  sudden,  so  un- 
lookcd  for.     He  sat  up— struggled  up — upon 
'  his  pillows,  and  instinctively  and  unawares 
'  faced  and  confronted  the  new  Thing  which 
approached  him.     In  that  moment  of  strange 
consciousness  and  revelation  he  felt  that  the 
'  intimation    was  true, — that    his  doom  was 
sealed  and  his  days  numbered.     He  did  not 
look  at  the  anxious  woman  who  v'as  wring- 
'  ing  her  hands  by  his  bedside,  nor  at  any  ex- 
:  tcrnal  object ;   but  with  an  irresistible  im- 
!  pulse  confronted  dumbly  the  new  world, — the 
I  changed  existence.     When  he  laid   himself 
I  down  again,  it  seemed  to  Colin  as  if  years 
I  had  passed  over  his  head.     He  said  some 
j  vague  words  of  thanks,  without  being  very 
!  well  aware  what  he  was  saying,  to  Lady 
I  Frankland,  and  then  lay  silent,  stunned,  and 
bewildered,  like  a  man  who  had  received  a 
i  blow.     What  she  said  to  him  afterward,  or 
j  how  long  she  remained  in  the  room,  he  was 
scarcely  aware  of.     Colin  belonged  to  a  race 
which  had  no  weak  members ;  he  had  been 
used  to  nothing  but  strength  and  health — 
wholesome  rural  life  and  vigor — all  his  days. 
He  had  even  learned,  without  knowing  it,  to 
take  a  certain  pride  in  his  own  physical  gifts, 
and  in  those  of  his  family,  and  to  look  with 
compassionate  contempt  on  people  who  were 
"  delicate  "  and  obliged  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves.    The  idea  that  such  a  fotc  might  by 
any  possibility  fall  to  himself  had  never  once 
occurred  to  him.     It  was  an  impossible  con- 
tingency at  which,  even  a  week  ago,   the 
strong  young  man,  just  entering  upon  tin- 
full   possession  of  his  powers,  would   have 
laughed,  as  beyond   the  range  of  imagina- 
tion.     He  might  die,  no  doubt,   like  any 
otlier  man, — might  be  snatched  out  of  the 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


89  , 


■world  by  violent  disease  or  sudden  fever,  as 
other  strong  men  had  been  ;  but  to  have  his 
strength  stolen  from  him  while  still  his  life 
remained  had  appeared  a  thing  beyond  the 
bounds  of  possibility  to  Colin.  As  he  lay 
now,  stunned  by  this  unlooked-for  fall,  there 
came  before  his  eyes,  as  vividly  as  if  he  saw 
them  in  actual  presence,  the  sick  people  of 
his  native  district, — the  young  men  and  the 
young  women  who  now  and  then  paid,  even 
on  the  sweet  shores  of  the  Holy  Loch,  the 
terrible  toll  which  consumption  takes  of  all 
the  nations  of  the  north.  One  of  them,  a 
young  man  about  his  own  age,  who,  like  him- 
self, had  been  in  training  for  the  Scotch 
Church,  whom  Colin  had  pitied  with  all  his 
kind  heart, — with  the  deepest  half-remorseful 
sense  of  his  own  superior  happiness, — came 
before  him  with  intense  distinctness  as  he  lay 
silent-struck  by  the  cold  shadow  of  fate.  He 
could  almost  have  thought  that  he  saw  the 
spectral,  attenuated  form,  with  its  hectic 
cheeks,  its  thin,  long,  wasted  hands,  its  pre- 
ternatural length  of  limb,  seated  in  the  old, 
high-backed  easy-chair  which  harmonized 
well  enough  with  the  other  articles  in  the 
farmhouse  parlor,  but  would  have  been 
oddly  out  of  place  in  the  room  where  Colin 
lay.  All  the  invalid's  life  appeared  to  him 
in  a  sudden  flash  of  recollection, — the  kindly 
neighbors'  visits ;  the  books  and  j^apers  which 
were  lent  him ;  the  soup  and  jellifis  which 
the  minister's  wife  and  the  other  ladies  of 
the  parish,  few  in  number  as  they  were,  kept 
him  provided  with.  Colin  could  even  re- 
member his  own  periodical  visits  ;  his  efforts 
to  think  what  would  interest  the  sick  man  ; 
his  pity  and  wonder  and  almost  contempt 
for  the  patience  which  could  endure,  and 
even  take  a  pleasure  in,  the  poor  comforts  of 
the  fading  life.  God  help  him  !  was  this 
what  he  himself  was  coming  to  ?  was  this  all 
he  had  to  anticipate?  Colin 's  heart  gave  a 
strange  leap  in  his  breast  at  the  thought.  A 
sudden  wild  throb,  a  sense  of  something  in- 
tolerable, a  cry  against  the  fate  which  was 
too  hard,  which  could  not  be  borne,  rose 
within  him,  and  produced  a  momentary 
sickness,  which  took  the  light  out  of  his 
eyes,  and  made  everything  swim  round  him 
in  a  kind  of  dizzy  gloom.  Had  he  been 
standing,  he  would  have  fallen  down,  and  the 
bystanders  would  have  said  he  had  fainted. 
But  he  had  not  fainted ;  he  was  bitterly, 
painfully  conscious  of  everything.     It  was 


only  his  heart  that  fluttered  in  his  breasf 
like  a  wounded  bird  ;  it  was  only  his  mind 
that  had  been  struck,  and  reeled.  So  much 
absorbed  was  he  that  he  did  not  hear  the 
voice  of  the  nurse,  who  brought  him  some 
invalid  nourishment,  and  who  became  fright- 
ened when  she  got  no  answer,  and  shook  him 
violently  by  the  arm.  "  Lord  bless  us,  he's 
gone !  "  exclaimed  the  woman  ;  and  she  was 
but  little  reassured  when  her  patient  turned 
upon  her  with  dry  lips  and  a  glittering  eye. 
"  I  am  not  gone  yet,"  said  Colin  ;  "  there  is 
no  such  luck  for  me  ;  "  and  then  he  began 
once  more  to  picture  out  to  himself  the  sick 
man  at  the  Holy  Loch,  with  the  little  tray 
on  the  table  beside  him,  and  his  little  basin 
of  soup.  God  help  him  !  was  this  how  he 
was  to  be  for  all  the  rest  of  his  life  ? 

This  was  how  he  sustained  the  first  physi- 
cal shock  of  the  intimation  which  poor  Lady 
Frankland  had  made  to  him  with  so  much 
distress  and  compunction.  It  is  hard  enough 
at  any  time  to  receive  a  sentence  of  death  ; 
yet  Colin  could  have  died  bravely,  had  that 
been  all  that  was  required  of  him.  It  was 
the  life  in  death  thus  suddenly  presented  be- 
fore his  eyes  that  appalled  his  soul  and  made 
his  heart  sick.  And  after  that.  Heaven 
knows,  there  were  other  considerations  still 
more  hard  to  encounter.  If  we  were  to  say, 
that  the  young  man  thus  stopped  short  in 
the  heydey  of  his  life  bethought  himself  im- 
mediately of  what  is  called  preparation  for 
dying,  it  would  be  both  false  and  foolish. 
Colin  had  a  desperate  passage  to  make  be- 
fore he  came  to  that.  As  these  moments, 
which  were  like  hours,  passed  on,  he  came  to 
consider  the  matter  in  its  larger  aspects. 
But  for  Harry  Frankland ,  he  would  have  been 
in  no  danger,  and  now  Harry  Frankland  was 
safe,  strong,  and  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  his 
life,  while  Colin  lay  broken  and  helpless, 
shipwrecked  at  the  beginning  of  his  career. 
Why  was  it  ?  Had  God  ordained  this  hor- 
rible injustice,  this  cruel  fate?  As  Colin 
looked  at  it,  out  of  the  clouds  that  were 
closing  round  him,  that  fair  career  which 
was  never  to  be  accomplished  stretched  bright 
before  him,  as  noble  a  future  as  ever  was 
contemplated  by  man.  It  had  its  drawbacks 
and  disadvantages  when  he  looked  at  it  a 
week  before,  and  might,  perhaps,  have  turned 
out  a  commonplace  life  enough,  had  it  come  to 
its  daily  fulfilment ;  but  now,  when  it  had 
suddenly  become  impossible,  what  a  career  it 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


90 

Bcemed !  Not  of  selfish  profit,  of  money- 
making,  or  pci'soaal  advantage, — a  life  which 
was  to  be  for  the  use  of  his  country,  for  the 
service  of  bis  church,  for  the  furtherance  of 
everything  that  was  honest  and  lovely  and 
.of  good  report.  lie  stood  here,  stayed  upon 
the  threshold  of  his  life,  and  looked  at  it 
with  wonder  and  despair.  This  existence 
God  had  cut  short  and  put  an  end  to.  Why  ? 
That  another  man  might  live  and  enjoy  his 
commonplace  pleasures ;  might  come  into 
possession  of  all  the  comforts  of  the  world  ; 
might  fill  a  high  position  without  knowing, 
without  caring  for  it ;  might  hunt  and  shoot 
and  fall  asleep  after  dinner,  as  his  father  had 
dqne  before  him. 

In  the  great  darkness,  Colin's  heart  cried 
out  with  a  cry  of  anguish  and  terrible  sur- 
prise to  the  invisible,  inexorable  God,  "Why? 
Why?"  Was  one  of  His  creatures  less 
dear,  less  precious  to  him  tlian  anothci 
that  he  should  make  this  terrible  diflFercncfc 
The  pure  life,  the  high  hopes,  the  humac 
purpose  and  human  happiness,  were  they  as 
nothing  to  the  great  Creator  who  had  brought 
them  into  being  and  suflEered  them  to  bud  and 
'blossom  only  that  he  might  crush  them  with 
his  hands?  Colin  lay  still  in  his  bed,  with 
his  lips  set  close  and  his  eyes  straining  into 
that  unfathomable  darkness.  The  bitterness 
of  death  took  possession  of  b'.8  soul, — a  bitter- 
ness heavier,  more  terrible  than  that  of  death. 
His  trust,  his  faith,  had  given  way.  God  sat 
veiled  upon  his  awful  throne,  concealed  by  a 
horrible  cloud  of  disappointment  and  incom- 
prehension. Neither  love  nor  justice,  neither 
mercy  nor  equal  dealing,  was  in  this  strange, 
unintelligible  contrast  of  one  man's  loss  and 
another  man's  gain.  As  the  young  man  lay 
struggling  in  this  hour  of  darkness,  the  God 
of  his  youth  disappeared  from  him,  the 
Saviour  of  his  childhood  withdi'ew,  a  sorrow- 
ful shadow,  into  the  angry  heavens.  What 
was  left?  Was  it  a  capricious  Deity,  ruled 
by  incomprehensible  impulses  of  favor  and  of 
scorn  ?  Was  it  a  blind  and  hideous  Chance, 
indifierent  alike  to  happiness  and  misery? 
Was  it  some  impious  power,  owning  no  ever- 
lasting rule  of  right  and  wrong,  of  good  and 
evil,  who  trampled  at  its  will  upon  the  hearts 
and  hopes  of  men  ?  Colin  was  asking  him- 
self these  terrible  questions  when  the  curtain 
was  softly  drawn,  and  a  face  looked  down 
upon  him,  in  which  tenderness  and  grief  and 
pity  had  come  to  such  a  climax  as  no  words 


could  convey  any  impression  of.  It  was  hi? 
mother  who  stood  beside  him,  stretching  out 
her  arms  like  a  pitying  angel,  yearning  over 
him  with  the  anguish  and  the  impatience  of 
love.  Sometimes,  surely,  the  Master  gives  us 
in  the  fellowship  of  his  sufferings  a  human 
pang  beyond  his  own, — the  will  to  suffer  in 
the  stead  of  those  we  love,  without  the 
power. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

"  They're  awfu'  grateful,  Colin ;  I  canna 
but  say  that  for  them,"  said  ^Mrs.  Campbell ; 
"  and  as  anxious  as  if  you  were  their  own 
son.  I'll  no  undertake  to  say  that  I  havena 
an  unchristian  feeling  myself  to  Harry  Frank- 
land  ;  but,  when  you're  a'  weel  and  strong, 
Colin"— 

' '  And  what  if  I  am  never  well  and  strong? ' ' 
said  the  young  man.  '  His  mother's  presence 
had  subdued  and  silenced,  at  least  for  a  time, 
the  wild  questions  in  his  heart.  She  had 
taken  them  upon  herself,  though  he  did  not 
know  it.  So  far  human  love  can  stretch  its 
fellowship  in  the  sufferings  of  its  Master, — 
not  to  the  extent  of  full  substitution,  of  sal- 
vation temporal  or  spiritual,  but,  at  least,  to 
a  modified  deliverance.  She  had  soothed  her 
son  and  eased  him  of  his  burden,  but  in  so 
doing  had  taken  it  to  herself.  The  eagle  that 
had  been  gnawing  his  heart  had  gone  to  fix 
its  talons  in  hers  ;  but  she  carried  it,  like  the 
Spartan,  under  her  mantle,  and  smiled  while 
it  rent  her  in  twain. 

"  Whisht,  whisht !  "  ehe  said,  in  her  mar- 
tyrdom of  composure  and  calm  looks,  and 
took  her  boy's  hand  and  held  it  between  hers 
— God  only  could  tell  how  fondly — with  a 
firm,  warm  grasp  that  seemed  to  hold  him 
fast  to  life.  "Colin,  my  man,  it's  a''in 
God's  hands,"  said  the  mistress  of  Ramore  ; 
"  whiles  his  ways  are  awfu'  mysterious.  I'm 
no  one  that  proposes  to  read  them,  or  see 
a'thing  plain,  like  some  folk ;  but  I  canna 
think  he  ever  makes  a  mistake,  or  lets  any- 
thing go  by  hazard.  We'll  bide  his  time, 
Colin  ;  and  who  can  tell  what  mercy  and 
goodness  he  may  have  in  his  hand?  " 

"IMerey  and  goodness,  or,  perhaps,  the 
contrary,"  said  Colin,  If  he  had  not  been  a 
little  comforted  and  eased  in  his  heart,  he 
would  not]  have  given  utterance  to  words 
which  he  felt  to  be  unchristian.  But  now, 
with  his  longing  to  be  soothed  and  to  accept 
the  softenino;  influence   which    surrounded 


A     SON    OF    THE    SOIL  91 

him,  came  an  impulse  to  speak, — to  use  ;  at  night,  like  a  sudden  thunderbolt  into  the 
■words  which  were  even  more  strong  than  his  quiet  house,  the  Holy  Loch  was  asleep  and 
feelings.  As  for  his  mother,  she  was  too 
thoughtful  a  woman,  and  had  in  her  own 
heart  too  heavy  a  burden,  to  appear  shocked 
by  what  he  said. 

"  Maybe  what  appears  to  us  the  contrary," 
she  said,  "  though  that  maun  be  but  an  ap- 
pearance, like  most  things  in  this  life.  I'm 
no  one  to  deny  my  ain  heart,  or  make  a  show 
as  if  I  understood  the  ways  of  the  Lord,  or 
could,  ay,  in  my  poor  way,  approve  of  them, 
if  a  mortal  creature  might  daur  to  say  so, 
Colin.  There's  things  he  does  that  appear 
a'  wrang  to  me, — I  canna  but  say  it.  I'm  no 
doubting  his  wisdom  nor  yet  his  love,  but 
there's  mony  a  thing  he  does  that  I  canna 
follow,  nor  see  onything  in  but  loss  and  mis- 


at  rest,  cradled  in  sweet  darkness,  and 
watched  by  fitful  glances  of  that  moon  for 
which  Colin  and  his  friends  had  looked  to 
guide  them  on  the  night  of  the  accident ;  a«d 
no  means  of  communicating  with  the  world 
until  the  morning  was  possible  to  the  inhab- 
itants of  Ramore.  The  anxious  mother, 
whose  eyes  had  not  been  visited  with  sleep 
through  all  the  lingering  winter  night,  set 
off  by  dawn  to  thread  her  weary,  unaccus- 
tomed way  through  all  the  mazes  of  the  rail- 
ways which  were  to  convey  her  to  Wodens- 
bourne.  She  had  neither  servant  nor  friend 
to  manage  for  her  ;  and  no  fine  lady,  accus- 
tomed to  the  most  careful  guardianship,  could 
be  more  unused  to  the  responsibilities  of  travel- 
ery.  But  oh,  Colin,  my  bonnie  man,  that's  i  ling  than  Mrs.  Campbell.  When  she  arrived, 
nae  cause  for  doubting  him  !  He  maun  have  '  it  was  to  find  her  boy,  her  first-born,  stretched 
his  ain  reasons,  and  they  maun  be  better  i  helpless  upon  his  bed,  to  see  the  examination 
reasons  than  ours.  If  you'll  close  your  eyes,  j  made  by  the  great  doctor  from  London,  to 
and  try  and  get  a  sleep,  I'll  take  a  breath  of  j  hear  his  guarded  statements,  his  feebly-ex- 
air  to  myself  before  night  sets  in.  I  was  aye  \  pressed  hopes,  which  conveyed  only  despair, 
an  awfa'  woman  for  the  air ;  and  eh,  laddie  !  |  and  with  that  sudden  arrow  quivering  in 
I  think  ye'll  be  thankful  to  get  back  to  her  heart,  to  undertake  the  duties  of  a  cheer- 
Ramore  after  this  dreary  country,  where  ful  nuree, — to  keep  smiling  upon  Colin, 
there's  neither  hill  nor  glen  ;  though  maybe  telling  him  the  news  of  the  parish,  the  events 
it  might  be  cauld  for  you  in  the  spring,  when  -  of  the  country-side,  as  if  her  coming  here  had 
there's  so  much  soft  weather,"  said  the  tender  j  been  a  holiday.  All  this  together — though 
woman,  smoothing  his  pillows,  and  bending  so  many  women  have  borne  it,  and  though 
over  him  with  her  anxious  smile.  "  It  minds  the  mistress  of  Ramore  was  able  to  bear  it, 
me  o'  the  time  when  you  were  my  baby,  and  more,  for  her  boy's  sake — was  a  hard 
Colin,  to  get  you  into  my  hands  again.  They  !  strain  upon  her.  When  she  got  down-stairs 
say  a  woman's  aye  a  queen  in  a  sick-room,"  into  the  air,  the  first  thing  she  did  was  to  sit 
said  the  mistress.  Her  smile  was  such  that .  down  on  the  steps  of  the  glass-door  which  led 
"tears  would  have  been  less  sad  ;  and  she  was  j  into  the  terrace  and  cry  bitterly  and  silently, 
impatient  to  be  gone, — to  leave  her  son's  bed-  j  She  was  alone  among  strangers,  with  scarcely 
side, — because  she  felt  herself  at  the  furthest  even  a  friendly  feature  of  familiar  nature  to 
stretch  of  endurance,  and  knew  that  her ;  give  her  a  little  confidence.  The  aspect  of 
strained  powers  must  soon  give  way.  Per-  j  the  great  house,  stretching  its  long  wings  and 
haps  Colin,  too,  understood  what  it  was  '■  solemn  front  into  the  twilight,  containing  a 
which  made  his  mother  so  anxious  to  leave  I  whole  community  of  people  unknown  to  her, 
him  ;  for  he  turned  his  face  to  the  waning  I  whose  very  voices  were  strange,  and  sounded 
evening  light,  and  closed  his  eyes,  and  after  a  '  like  a  foreign  tongue,  completed  the  forlorn 
while,  seemed  to  sleep.  When  he  had  lain  sense  she  had  of  absence  from  everything  that 
thus  quietly  for  some  time,  the  poor  mother  could  help  or  console  ;  and  when,  in  the  rest- 
stole  down-stairs  and  out  into  the  wintry  lessness  of  her  musing,  she  got  up  and  began 
twilight.  Her  heart  was  breaking  in  her  to  walk  about  upon  that  deserted  terrace, 
tender  bosom;  her  strength  had  been  strained  which  Colin  had  paced  so  often,  all  Colin 's 
to  the  utmost  bounds  of  possibility  ;  and  questions,  all  his  doubts,  rushed  with  double 
nature  demanded  at  least  the  relief  of  tears.  I  force  and  feminine  passion  into  his  mother's 
Two  days  before,  she  had  been  tranquil  and  j  mind.  As  she  pursued  her  uncertain  way, 
content  in  her  peaceful  life  at  home.  When  I  her  eye  was  attracted  by  the  lights  in  the 
Sir  Thomas  Frankland's  telegram  came  late   windows.     One  of  them  was  large  and  low, 


92 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


and  80  close  upon  the  terrace  that  she  could 
not  help  seeing  the  interior,  and  what  was 
passing  there.  Harry  Frankland  was  stand 
ing  by  the  fire  with  his  cousin.  The  long 
billiard-table  behind  them,  and  the  cue  which 
Miss  Matty  still  held  in  her  hand  did  not 
enlighten  Mrs.  Campbell  as  to  what  they  had 
been  doing.  Matty  had  laid  her  disengaged 
hand  on  her  cousin's  shoulder,  and  was  look 
ing  up,  as  if  pleading  for  something,  into  hi( 
face  ;  and  the  firelight,  which  gleamed  upon 
them  both,  gave  color  and  brightness  to  the 
two  young  faces,  which  seemed  to  the  6or 
powful  woman  outside  to  be  glowing  with 
health  and  love  and  happiness.  When  ^1: 
Campbell  looked  upon  this  scene,  her  heart 
cried  out  in  her  breast.  It  was  Colin 
question  that  came  to  her  lips  as  she  hurried 
past  in  the  cold  and  the  gathering  dark- 
ness : — 

"Why?  OGod!  why?"  Her  son  struck 
to  the  earth  in  the  bloom  of  his  young  life, — 
rooted  up  like  a  young  tree,  or  a  silly  flow- 
er,— and  this  youth,  this  other  woman's  son, 
taking  the  happiness  that  should  have  been 
for  Colin.  Why  was  it  ?  The  poor  woman 
called  in  her  misery  upon  the  heavens  and  the 
earth  to  answer  her — Why  ?  One  deprived 
of  all,  another  possessed  of  everything  that 
Boul  of  man  could  desire, — one  heart  smitten 
and  rent  asunder,  and  another  reposing  in 
quiet  and  happiness-  As  she  went  on  in  her 
haste,  without  knowing  where  she  went, 
another  window  caught  the  mistress's  eye. 
It  was  the  nursery  window  where  all  the  lit- 
tle ones  were  holding  high  carnival.  Little 
boys  and  little  girls,  the  younger  branches 
of  the  large  happy  family,  with  again  the 
light  gleaming  rosy  over  their  childish  faces. 
The  eldest  of  all  was  having  her  toilet  made 
for  presentation  in  the  drawing-room,  and  at 
eight  of  lier,  another  blow  keen  and  poignant 
went  to  Mrs.  Campbell's  heart.  Just  such 
a  child  had  been  the  little  maiden,  the  little 
daughter  who  once  made  sunshine  in  the 
homely  house  of  Ramorc.  It  came  upon  the 
poor  mother  in  the  darkness,  to  think  what 
that  child  would  have  been  to  her  now,  had  she 
, lived, — how  her  woman-child  would  have 
suffered  with  her,  wept  with  her,  helped  to 
bear  the  burden  of  her  woe.  Her  heart 
yearned  and  longed  in  her  new  grief  over  the 
little  one  who  had  been  gone  four  years.  She 
turned  away  hastily  from  the  bright  window 
and  the  gay  group,  and  sunk  down  upon  her 


knees  on  the  ground  with  a  sob  that  came 
from  her  heart, — "  Why?  oh,  why  ?  "  God 
had  his  reasons  ;  but  what  were  they  !  The 
agony  of  loss,  in  which  there  seemed  no  pos- 
sible gain  ;  the  bitterness  of  suifering,  with- 
out knowing  any  reason  for  it,  overpowered 
her.  The  contrast  of  her  own  trouble  with 
the  happiness,  the  full  possession,  the  uni- 
versal prosperity  and  comfort  which  she  saw, 
struck  her  sharply  with  something  wliich  was 
not  envy  of  her  neighbor,  but  the  appeal  of 
an  amazed  anguish  to  God.  "  The  waj's  of 
the  Lord  are  not  equal,"  she  was  saying  in 
her  soul.  Was  it,  as  nature  suggested,  with 
natural  groans,  because  he  loved  her  less,  or, 
as  the  minister  said,  because  he  loved  her 
more,  that  God  sent  upon  her  those  pangs, 
and  demanded  from  her  those  sacrifices? 
Thus  she  cried  out  of  the  depths,  not  know- 
ing what  she  said.  "  If  I  had  but  had  my 
Jeanie !  "  the  poor  woman  moaned  to  her- 
self, with  a  vision  of  a  consoling  angel,  a 
daughter,  another  dearer,  fairer  self,  who 
would  have  helped  to  bear  all  her  burdens. 
But  God  had  not  afforded  her  that  comfort, 
the  dearest  consolation  to  a  woman.  When 
she  had  wept  out  those  few  bitter  tears,  that 
are  all  of  which  the  heart  is  capable  when 
it  is  no  longer  young,  she  gathered  herself 
up  out  of  the  darkness  and  prepared  to  go  in 
again  to  Colin's  bedside.  Though  she  had 
received  no  answer  to  her  question, — though 
neither  God  himself,  nor  his  angels,  nor  any 
celestial  creature,  had  gleamed  through  the 
everlasting  veil,  and  given  her  a  glimpse  of 
that  divine  meaning  which  it  is  so  hard  to 
read, — there  was  a  certain  relief  in  the  ques- 
tion itself,  and  in  the  tears  that  had  been 
wrung  out  of  her  heart.  And  so  it  was  that, 
when  Matty  Frankland  came  lightly  out  of 
the  billiard-room,  on  her  way  to  dress  for 
dinner,  Mrs.  Campbell,  whom  she  met  com- 
ing in  from  the  terrace,  did  not  appear  to 
her  to  bear  a  different  aspect  from  that  of  the 
mistress  of  Ramore.  Matty  did  not  lose  a 
minute  in  making  her  advances  to  Culiu's 
mother.  She  was,  indeed,  extremely  sorry, 
lud  had  even  been  conscious  of  a  passing 
thought  similar  to  that  which  had  struggled 
passionately  into  being,  both  in  Colin's  mind 
and  in  his  mother's, — a  passing  sense  of  won- 
der why  Harry,  who  was  good  for  nothing  in 
particular,  should  have  been  saved,  and  Colin, 
who  was  what  Miss  Matty  called  "so  very 
clever,"  should  have  been  the  sufferer.     Such 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


a  doubt,  Lad  it  gone  deep  enough, — had  it 
become  an  outcry  of  the  soul,  as  it  was  with 
the  others, — would  have  made  an  infidel  of 
that  little  woman  of  the  world.  She  ran  to 
ilrs.  Campbell,  and  took  her  hand,  and  led 
lj3r  into  the  billiard-room,  the  door  of  which 
stood  open.  "  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Camj^bell, 
come  and  tell  me  about  him,"  she  said  ;  and, 
as  it  had  been  the  conjunction  of  a  little  real 
feeling  with  her  habitual  wiles  that  brought 
Colin  under  her  influence,  the  same  thing 
moved  his  mother  at  least  to  tolerate  the  in- 
quiry. She  drew  away  her  hand  with  some 
impatience  from  the  little  enchantress,  but 
her  tender  heart  smote  her  when  she  saw  an 
involuntary  tear  in  Matty's  eye.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  it  was  less  her  fault  than  her  mis- 
fortune ;  and  the  mistress  followed  the  girl 
into  the  room  with  less  dislike,  and  more  tol- 
eration, than  she  would  have  supposed  pos- 
sible. It  might  be,  after  all,  the  older  peo- 
ple— to  whom  worldliness  came  by  nature, 
as  the  Hindoos  thought  —  who  were  to 
blame. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Campbell,  I  am  so  sorry, — I 
cannot  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am,"  cried  Matty, 
— and  she  spoke  only  the  truth,  and  had  real 
tears  in  her  eyes, — "  to  think  that  he  should 
save  my  cousin  again,  and  suffer  so  for  his 
goodness.  Don't  be  angry  with  us,  though, 
indeed,  I  should  not  wonder  if  you  could 
not  bear  our  very  name  ;  I  am  sure  I  should 
not,  if  I  were  you." 

"  Na,  God  forbid,"  said  the  mistress.  She 
was  but  half  satisfied  of  the  reality  of  the 
young  lady's  professions,  and  this  suspicion, 
60  unusual  to  her,  gave  diguity  to  her  speech. 

"  It  wasna  you  nor  ony  mortal  person,  but 
his  own  heart,  that  moved  my  Colin.  You 
could  do  an  awfu'  deal,"  said  Colin's  moth- 
er, looking  with  a  woman's  look  of  disap- 
proving admiration  on  Matty's  pretty  face  ; 
"  but  you  couldna  move  my  son  like  his  ain 
generous  will.  He  never  was  one  to  think 
of  his  ain — comfort  " — continued  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell with  a  little  shudder  for  something  in 
her  throat  prevented  her  from  saying  his  life 
— "  when  a  fellow-creature  was  in  danger. 
It  was  his  ain  heart  that  was  to  blame, — if 
'anything  was  to  blame, — and  not  you." 
''  And  the  homely  woman's  eyes  went  past 
her  questioner  with  that  same  look  which  in 
Colin  had  bo  often  b%pled  Miss  Matty,  show- 
ing that  the  higher  spirit  had  gone  beyond 
the  lesser  into  its  own  element,  where  only 


93 

its  equals  could  follow.  The  girl  was  awed 
for  the  moment,  and  humbled.  Not  for  her 
poor  sake,  not  for  Harry  Frankland,  who  was 
of  no  great  account  to  anybody  out  of  his  own 
family,  but  because  of  his  own  nature,  which 
would  not  permit  him  to  see  another  perish, 
had  Colin  suffered.  This  thought,  imper- 
fectly as  she  understood  it,  stopped  the  vol- 
uble sympathy,  pity,  and  distress  on  Matty's 
lips.  She  no  longer  knew  what  to  say,  and, 
after  an  awkward  pause,  could  only  stammer 
over  her  old  commonplaces.  "Oh,  dear, 
Mrs.  Campbell,  I  am  so  sorry ;  I  would  give 
anything  in  the  world  to  make  him  well 
again,  and  I  only  hope  you  wont  be  angry 
with  us,"  said  Matty,  with  a  suppressed  sob, 
which  was  partly  fright  and  partly  feeling. 
The  eyes  of  the  mistress  came  back  at  the 
sound  of  the  girl's  voice. 

"  I'm  no  angry,"  she  said. — "  God  forbid ; 
though  I  might  have  something  to  say  to  you 
if  my  heart  could  speak.  The  like  of  you 
whiles  do  mair  harm  in  this  world.  Miss 
Frankland,  than  greater  sinners.  I'm  no  say- 
ing you  kent  what  you  were  doing  ;  but,  if 
it  had  not  been  for  you,  my  Colin  would 
never  have  come  near  this  place.  You  be- 
guiled my  son  with  your  pleasant  words  and 
your  bonnie  face.  He  had  nae  mair  need  to 
come  here  to  be  tutor  to  yon  bit  crooked  cal- 
lant,"  said  the  mistress,  with  involuntary 
bitterness,  "  than  Maister  Frankland  himself. 
But  he  thought  to  be  near  you,  that  had  be- 
guiled him,  and  made  him  give  mair  heed  to 
your  fables  than  to  anything  else  that  was 
true  in  life.  I'm  no  blaming  my  Colin," 
said  the  mistress,  with  an  unconscious  ele- 
vation of  her  head  ;  "he  never  had  kent 
onything  but  truth  a'  his  days,  and,  if  he 
wasna  to  believe  in  a  woman  that  smiled  on 
him  and  enticed  him  to  her,  what  was  he  to 
believe  in  at  his  years  ?  Nor  I'm  no  to  call 
angry  at  you,"  said  Colin's  mother,  looking 
from  the  elevation  of  age  and  nature  upon 
Miss  Matty,  who  drooped  instinctively,  and 
became  conscious  what  a  trifling  little  soul 
she  was.  "  We  a'  act  according  to  our  ain 
nature,  and  you  wasna  capable  of  perceiving 
what  harm  you  could  do  ;  but,  if  you  should 
ever  encounter  again  one  that  was  true  him- 
self and  believed  in  you  " — 

Here  Matty,  who  had  never  been  destitute 
of  feeling,  and  who,  in  her  heart,  was  fond 
of  Colin  in  her  way,  and  had  a  kind  of  un- 
derstanding of  him,  so  far  as  she  could  go, 


94 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


fell  into  such  an  outburst  of  natural  tears 
as  disarmed  the  mistress,  -who  faltered  and 
stopped  short,  and  had  hard  ado  to  retain 
some  appearance  of  severity  in  sight  of  this 
weeping,  for  -which  she  was  not  prepared. 
Colin's  mother  understood  truth,  and  in  an 
abhorring,  indignant,  resentful  way,  believed 
that  there  was  falsehood  in  the  world.  But 
how  truth  and  falsehood  were  mingled — how 
the  impulses  of  nature  might  have  a  little 
room  to  work  even  under  the  fictions  of  art, 
or  the  falseness  of  society — was  a  knowledge 
unimagined  by  the  simple  woman.  She  be- 
gan to  think  she  had  done  Matty  injustice 
when  she  saw  her  tears. 

'«  Oh,  Mrs.  Campbell,  I  know  how  good 
he  is  !  I — I  never  knew  any  one  like  him. 
How  could  I  help —  But,  indeed — indeed, 
I  never  meant  any  harm  !  "  cried  Matty,  in- 
geniously taking  advantage  of  the  truth  of 
her  own  feelings,  as  far  as  they  went,  to  dis- 
arm her  unconscious  and  single-minded  judge. 
The  mistress  looked  at  her  with  puzzled  but 
pitiful  eyes. 

"  It  would  be  poor  comfort  to  him  to  say 
you  never  meant  it,"  she  said ;  and  in  the 
pause  that  followed,  Matty  had  begun  to  rec- 
ollect that  it  was  a  long  time  since  the  dress- 
ing-bell rung,  though  she  still  had  her  face 
bid  on  the  table,  and  the  tears  were  not  dried 
from  her  cheeks.  "And  things  may  turn 
out  more  merciful  than  they  look  like,"  said 
the  mistress,  with  a  heavy  sigh  and  a  wist- 
ful smile.  Perhaps  it  occurred  to  her  that- 
the  gratitude  of  the  Franklands  mighi  go  so 
far  as  to  bestow  upon  Colin  the  woman  he 
loved.  "  I'll  no  keep  you  longer,"  she  con- 
tinued, laying  her  tender  hand  for  a  moment 
on  I\Iatty's  head.  "  God  bless  you  for  every 
kind  thought  you  ever  had  to  my  Colin. 
He's  weel  worthy  of  them  all,"  said  the  wist- 
ful motlier. 

Matty,  who  did  not  know  what  to  say,  and 
who,  under  this  touch,  felt  her  own  artifice 
to  her  heart,  and  was  for  a  moment  disgust- 
ed with  herself,  sprung  up  in  a  little  agony 
of  shame  and  remorse,  and  kissed  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell as  she  went  away.  And  Cokn's  mother 
w^ent  back  to  her  son's  room  to  find  him 
asleep,  and  sat  down  by  his  side,  to  ponder 
in  herself  whether  this  and  that  might  not 
still  be  possible.  Love  and  happiness  were 
physicians  in  whom  the  simple  woman  had  a 
confidence  unbounded.  If  they  came  smiling 
hand  in  hand  to  Colin's  pillow,  who  could 


tell  what  miracle  of  gladness  might  yet  fall 
from  the  tender  heavens  ? 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

But,  though  Mrs.  Campbell's  heart  relent- 
ed toward  Matty,  and  was  filled  with  vague 
hopes  which  centred  in  her,  it  was  very  hard 
to  find  out  what  Colin's  thoughts  were  on  the 
same  subject.      lie  scarcely  spoke  of   the 
Franklands  at  all,  and  never  named  or  re- 
ferred to  the  ladies  of  the  house.     When  his 
mother  spoke,  with  natural  female  wiles  to 
tempt  him  into  confidence,  of  special  inquiries 
made  for  him,  Colin  took  no  notice  of  the  in- 
ference.    She  even  went  so  far  as  to  refer 
specially  to  Miss  Matty  with  no  greater  ef- 
fect.    "  There's  one  in  the  house  as  anxious 
as  me,"  said  the  mistress,  with  tender  ex- 
aggeration, as  she  smoothed  his  pillow  and 
made  her  morning  inquiries ;    but  her  eon 
only  smiled  faintly  and  shook  his  head  with 
an  almost  imperceptible  movement  of  incre- 
dulity.    He  asked  no  questions,  showed  no 
pleasure  at  the  thought,  but  lay  most  of  the 
day  in  a  silence  which  his  mother  could  find 
no  means  of  breaking,  even  now  and  then, 
for  a  moment.     The  first  horror,  the  first  re- 
sistance had  gone  out  of  Colin's  mind ;  but 
he  lay  asking  himself  inevitable  questions, 
facing  the  great  problem  for  which  he  could 
find  no  solution,  which  no  man  has  been  able 
to  explain.     Had  the  thoughts  of  his  mind 
been  put  into  words,  the  chances  are  that  to 
most  people  who  have  never  themselves  come 
to  such  a  trial,  Colin  would  have  seemed  a 
blasphemer  or  an  infidel.    But  he  was  neither 
the  one  nor  the  other,  and  was  indeed  inca- 
pable by  nature  either  of  scepticism  or  of 
profanity.     The  youth  had  been  born  of  a 
sternly-believing  race,  which  recognized  in 
all  God's  doings  an  eternal  right,  beyond 
justice  and  beyond  reason, — a  right  to  deal 
with  them  and  theirs  as  he  might  please; 
but  Colin  himself  was  of  the  present  age,  and 
was  fully  possessed  by  all  those  cravings  af- 
ter understanding  and  explanation  which  be- 
long to  the  time.     Without  any  doubt  of 
God,  he  was  arrested  by  the  Avouderful  mys- 
tery of  Providence,  and  stood  questioning,  in 
the  face  of  the  unanswering  silence,  "Why?" 
Tlic  good  God,  the  God  of  the  Gospels,  the 
Father  of  our  Lord,  was  the  divine  Ruler 
whom  Colin  recognize^  in   his  heart ;  but 
the  young  man  longed  and  struggled  to  find 
reasonableness,  coherence,  any  recognizable. 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


95 


comprehensible  cause,  for  the  baffling  ar- 
rangements and  disarrangements,  the  myste- 
rious inequalities  and  injustices  of  life.  He 
wanted  to  trace  the  thread  of  reason  which 
God  kept  in  his  own  hand ;  he  wanted  to 
make  out  why  the  Father  who  loved  all 
should  dispense  so  unequally,  so  diiferently, 
his  gifts  to  one  and  another.  This  awful 
question  kept  him  silent  for  days  and  nights  ; 
he  could  not  make  anything  of  it.  Social 
inequalities,  which  speculatists  fret  at,  had 
not  much  disturbed  Colin.  It  had  not  yet 
occurred  to  him  that  wealth  or  poverty  made 
much  difference  ;  but  why  the  life  of  one 
should  be  broken  off  incomplete  and  that  of 
another  go  on, — why  the  purposes  of  one 
should  end  in  nothing, — why  his  hopes  should 
be  crushed  and  his  powers  made  useless", 
while  another  flourished  and  prospered,  con- 
founded him,  in  the  inexperience  of  his 
youth.  And  neither  heaven  nor  earth  gave 
him  any  answer.  The  Bible  itself  seemed  to 
append  moral  causes  which  were  wanting  in 
his  circumstances  to  the  perennial  inequali- 
ties of  existence.  It  spoke  of  the  wicked 
great  in  power,  flourishing  like  the  green 
bay-tree,  and  of  the  righteous  oppressed  and 
Buffering  for  righteousness'  sake,  which  was, 
in  its  way,  a  comprehensible  statement  of  the 
matter.  But  the  facts  did  not  agree  in  Co- 
lin'a  case.  Harry  Frankland  could  not,  by 
any  exertion  of  dislike,  be  made  to  represent 
the  wicked,  nor  was  Colin,  in  his  own  think- 
ing, better  than  his  neighbor.  They  were 
two  sons  of  one  Father,  to  whom  that  Father 
was  behaving  with  the  most  woful,  the  most 
extraordinary  partiality,  and  nothing  in  heav- 
en or  earth  was  of  half  so  much  importance 
as  to  prove  the  proceedings  of  the  Father  of 
all  to  be  everlastingly  just  and  of  sublime 
reason.  What  did  it  mean?  This  was  what 
Colin  was  discussing  with  himself  as  he  lay 
on  his  bed.  It  was  not  wonderful  that  such 
thoughts  should  obliterate  the  image  of  Miss 
Matty.  When  she  came  into  his  mind  at  all, 
he  looked  back  upon  her  with  a  pensive  sweet- 
ness, as  on  somebody  he  had  known  a  lifetime 
before.  Sterner  matters  had  now  taken  the 
place  of  the  light  love  and  hopes  of  bountiful 
and  lavish  youth.  The  hopes  had  grown  few, 
and  the  abundance  changed  into  poverty. 
If  the  Author  of  the  change  had  chosen  to  re- 
veal some  reason  in  it,  the  young  soul  thus 
stopped  short  in  its  way  could  have  consented 
that  all  was  well. 


And  then  Lady  Frankland  came  every  day 
to  pay  him  a  visit  of  sympathy,  and  to  ex- 
press her  gratitude.  "It  is  such  a  comfort 
to  see  him  looking  so  much  better  !  "  Lady 
Frankland  said  ;  "  Harry  would  like  so  much 
to  come  and  sit  with  you,  dear  Mr.  Campbell. 
He  could  read  to  you,  you  know,  when  you 
feel  tired ;  I  am  sure  nothing  he  could  do 
would  be  too  much  to  show  his  sense  of  your 


At  which  words  Colin  raised  himself  up. 

"I  should  be  much  better  pleased,"  said 
Colin,  "  if  you  would  not  impute  to  me 
feelings  which  I  don't  pretend  to.  It  was 
no  regard  for  Mr.  Frankland  that  induced 
me" — 

"Oh,  indeed  !  I  know  how  good  you 
are,"  said  Harry's  mother,  pressing  his 
hand,  "  always  so  generous,  and  disposed 
to  make  light  of  your  own  kindness  ;  but  we 
all  know  very  well,  and  Harry  knows,  that 
there  is  many  a  brother  who  would  not  have 
done  so  much.  I  am  sure  I  cannot  express 
to  you  a  tenth  part  of  what  I  feel.  Harry's 
life  is  so  precious!  "  said  my  lady,  with  a 
natural  human  appreciation  of  her  own  con- 
cerns, and  unconscious,  unintentional  indif- 
ference to  those  of  others.  "  The  eldest  son, 
— and  Sir  Thomas  has  quite  commenced  to 
rely  upon  him  for  many  things — and  I  am 
sure  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  without 
Harry  to  refer  to,"  Lady  Frankland  contin- 
ued, with  a  little  smile  of  maternal  pride  and 
triumph.  When  she  came  to  this  point,  it 
chanced  to  her  to  catch  a  side-glimpse  of  Mrs. 
Campbell's  face.  The  mistress  sat  by  her 
son's  bedside,  pale,  with  her  lips  set  close, 
and  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  hem  of  her  apron, 
which  she  was  folding  and  refolding  in  her 
hands.  She  did  not  say  anything,  nor  give 
utterance  in  any  way  to  the  dumb  remon- 
strance and  reproach  with  which  her  heart 
was  bursting ;  but  there  was  something  in 
her  face  which  imposed  silence  upon  the  tri- 
umphant, prosperous  woman  beside  her. 
Lady  Frankland  gave  a  little  gasp  of  min- 
gled fright  and  compunction.  She  did  not 
know  what  to  say  to  express  her  full  sense 
of  the  service  which  Colin  had  done  her ; 
and  there  was  nothing  strange  in  her  in- 
stinctive feeling  that  she,  a  woman  used  to 
be  served  and  tended  all  her  life,  had  a  nat- 
ural claim  upon  other  people's  services.  She 
was  very  sorry,  of  course,  about  Mr.  Camp- 
bell ;  if  any  exertion  of  hers  could  have  cured 


96 

biuQ,  he  would  have  been  well  ia  lialf  an 
hour.  But,  as  it  was,  it  appeared  to  her 
'rather  natural  than  otherwise  that  the  tutor 
should  suffer  and  that  her  own  son  should 
be  saved. 

"  I  felt  always  secure  about  Harry  when 
you  were  with  him,  "  slie  said,  with  an  in- 
voluntary artifice.  "He  was  so  fond  of 
you,  Mr.  Campbell, — and  I  always  felt  that 
you  knew  how  important  his  safety  was,  and 
how  much  depended  " — 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Colin, — he  was  angry 
in  his  weakness  at  her  pertinacity.  "  I  have 
no  right  to  your  gratitude.  Your  son  and  I 
have  no  love  for  each  other.  Lady  Frankland. 
1  picked  him  out  of  the  canal,  not  because  I 
thought  of  the  importance  of  his  life,  but 
because  I  had  seen  him  go  down,  and  should 
have  felt  myself  a  kind  of  murderer,  had  I 
not  tried  to  save  him.  That  is  the  whole. 
Why  should  I  be  supposed  to  have  any  spe- 
cial regard  for  him?  Perhaps,"  said  Colin, 
whose  words  came  slowly  and  whose  voice 
was  interrupted  by  his  weakness, — "  I  would 
have  given  my  life  with  more  comfort  for  any 
other  man." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Campbell!  don't  be  bo  angry 
and  bitter.  After  all,  it  was  not  our  fault," 
said  Lady  Frankland,  with  a  wondering  of- 
fence and  disappointment,  and  then  she  hur- 
riedly changed  her  tone,  and  began  to  con- 
gratulate his  mother  on  his  improved  looks. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  him  looking  so  much 
better  !  There  were  some  people  coming 
here,"  said  my  lady,  faltering  a  little  ;  "  we 
would  not  have  them  come,  so  long  as  he  was 
80  ill.  Neither  Harry  nor  any  of  us  could 
have  suffered  it.  "We  had  sent  to  put  them 
off;  but  now  that  he  is  so  much  better  " — 
said  Lady  Frankland,  with  a  voice  which 
was  half  complaint  and  half  appeal.  She 
thought  it  was  rather  ill-tempered  of  the 
mother  and  eon  to  make  so  little  response. 

'•When  I  almost  asked  their  permission  !  " 
she  said,  with  a  little  indignation,  when  she 
had  gone  down-stairs  ;  "  but  they  seem  to 
think  they  should  be  quite  masters,  and  look 
as  black  as  if  we  had  done  them  an  injury. 
Send  to  everybody,  and  say  it  is  to  bo  on 
Wednesday,  Matty;  for  Henry's  interests 
must  not  be  neglected."  Il  was  a  ball,  for 
which  Lady  Frankland  had  sent  out  her  in- 
vitations some  time  before  the  accident ;  for 
Harry  Frankland  was  to  ask  the  suffrages 
of  the  electors  of  Earic  at  the  approaching 


A    SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 

:  election.  "  I  don't  mean  to  be  ungrateful  to 
I  Mr.  Campbell,"  said  the  lady  of  Wodens- 
!  bourne,  smoothing  those  ruffled  plumes.  "  I 
I  am  sure  nobody  can  say  I  hdvc  not  been 
grateful ;  but  at  the  same  tiaic,  I  can't  be 
i  expected  to  sacrifice  my  own  son."  Such 
,  were  the  sentiments  with  which  Lady  Frank- 
land  came  down-stairs.  As  for  the  other 
mother,  it  would  be  hard  to  describe  what 
was  in  her  mind.  In  the  bitterness  of  her 
heart,  she  was  angry  with  the  God  who  had 
no  pity  upon  her.  If  Harry  Frankland's 
life  was  precious,  what  was  Colin's?  and  the 
mistress,  in  her  anguish,  made  bitter  com- 
parisons, and  cried  out  wildly  with  a  wom- 
an's passion.  Down-stairs,  in  the  fine  rooms, 
which  her  simple  imagination  filled  with 
splendor,  they  would  dance  and  sing  uncon- 
cerned, though  her  boy's  existence  hung 
trembling  in  the  balance ;  and  was  not 
Heaven  itself  indifferent,  taking  no  notice? 
She  was  glad  that  twilight  was  coming  on  to 
conceal  her  face,  and  that  Colin,  who  lay 
very  silent,  did  not  observe  her.  And  so, 
while  Lady  Frankland,  feeling  repulsed  and 
injured,  managed  to  escape  partially  from 
the  burden  of  an  obligation  which  was  too 
vast  to  be  borne,  and  returned  to  the  consid- 
eration of  her  ball,  the  two  strangers  kept" 
silence  in  the  twilight  chamber,  each  dumbly 
contending  with  doubts  that  would  not  be 
overcome,  and  questions  which  could  not  be 
answered.  What  did  God  mean  by  permit- 
ting this  wonderful,  this  incomprehensible 
difference  between  the  two?  But  the  great 
Father  remained  silent  and  made  no  reply. 
The  days  of  revelation  and  explanation  were 
over.  For  one,  joy  and  prosperity ;  for  an- 
other, darkness  and  the  shadow  of  death, — 
plain  facts  not  to  be  misconceived  or  con- 
tested— and  in  all  the  dumb  heavens  and  si- 
lent, observant  earth  no  wisdom  nor  knowl- 
edge which  could  tell  the  reason  why. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

"  Av,  I  heard  of  the  accident.  No  that  I 
thought  anything  particular  of  that.  You're 
no  the  kind  of  eallant,  nor  come  of  the  kind 
of  race,  to  give  in  to  an  accident.  I  came 
for  my  own  pleasure.  I  hope  I'm  old  enough 
to  ken  what  pleases  myself.  Take  your  din- 
ner, eallant,  and  leave  me  to  mind  my  busi- 
ness. I  could  do  that  much  before  you  were 
born." 

It  was  Lauderdale  who  made  this  answer 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


to  Colin's  half-pleased,  half-impatient,  ques- 
tioning. The  new-comer  sat,  gaunt  and 
strange,  throwing  a  long  shadow  over  the 
8ick-bed,  and  looking,  with  a  suppressed 
emotion,  more  pathetic  than  tears,  upon, the 
tray  which  was  placed  on  a  little  table  by 
Colin's  side.  It  was  a  sad  sight  enough. 
The  young  man,  in  the  flush  and  beauty  of 
his  youth,  with  his  noble  physical  develop- 
ment, and  the  eager  soul  that  shone  in  his 
eyes,  lay  helpless,  with  an  invalid's  repast 
before  him,  for  which  he  put  out  his  hand 
with  a  languid  movement,  like  a  sick  child. 
Lauderdale  himself  looked  haggard  and  care- 
worn. He  had  travelled  by  night,  and  was 
unshaven  and  untrimmed,  with  a  wild  gleam 
of  exhaustion  and  hungry  anxiety  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Whatever  the  reason  may  be,  we're  real 
glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mrs.  Campbell.  "  If 
I  could  have  wished  for  anything  to  do  Colin 
good  more  than  he's  getting,  it  would  have 
been  you.  But  he's  a  great  deal  better, — a 
wonderful  deal  better  ;  you  would  not  know 
him  for  the  same  creature  that  he  was  when 
I  came  here  ;  and  I'm  in  great  hopes  he'll  no 
need  to  be  sent  away  for  the  rest  of  the  win- 
ter, as  the  doctor  said,"  said  the  sanguine 
mother,  who  had  reasoned  herself  into  hope. 
She  looked  with  wistful  inquiry  as  she  spoke 
into  Lauderdale's  eyes,  trying  hard  to  read 
there  what  was  the  opinion  of  the  new-comer. 
"It  would  be  an  awfu'  hard  thing  for  me 
to  send  him  away  by  himsel',  and  him  no 
well,"  said  the  mistress,  with  a  hope  that 
his  friend  would  say  that  Colin's  looks  did  not 
demand  such  a  proceeding,  but  that  health 
would  come  back  to  him  with  the  sweet  air 
of  the  Holy  Loch. 

"  I  heard  of  that,"  said  Lauderdale,  "  and, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I'm  tired  of  staying  in  one 
place  all  my  life  mysel'.  If  a  man  is  to  have 
no  more  good  of  his  ain  legs  than  if  he  were 
a  vegetable,  I  see  no  good  in  being  a  man  ;  it 
would  save  an  awfu'  deal  of  trouble  to  turn 
a  cabbage  at  once.  So  I'm  thinking  of  tak- 
ing a  turn  about  the  world  as  long  as  I'm 
able  ;  and  if  Colin  likes  to  go  with  me  " — 

"  Which  means,  mother,  that  he  has  come 
to  be  my  nurse,"  said  Colin,  wliose  heart  was 
climbing  into  his  throat ;  "  and  here  I  lie  like 
a  log,  and  will  never  be  able  to  do  more  than 
say  thanks.     Lauderdale" — 

"  Whisht,  callant,"  said  the  tender  giant, 
who  stood  looking  down  upon   Colin  with 

7 


97 

eyes  which  would  not  trust  themselves  to 
answer  the  mother's  appealing  glances  ;  "  I'm 
terrible  fatigued  with  my  life,  and  no  able  to 
take  the  trouble  of  arguing  the  question. 
Not  that  I  consent  to  your  proposition,  which 
has  a  fallacy  on  the  face  of  it ;  for  it  would 
be  a  bonnie-like  thing  to  hear  you  say  thanks 
either  to  your  mother  or  me.  Since  I've 
been  in  my  situation, — which,  maybe,  I'll  tell 
you  more  about  by  and  by,  now  that  my 
mouth's  opened, — I've  saved  a  little  siller,  a 
hundred  pounds,  or  maybe  mair,"  said  the 
philosopher,  with  a  momentary  smile,  "  and 
I  see  no  reason  why  I  shouldna  have  my  bit 
holiday  as  well  as  other  folk.  I've  worked 
long  for  it."  He  turned  away  just  then, 
attracted  by  a  gleam  of  sunshine  at  the  win- 
dow, his  companion  thought,  and  stood  look- 
ing out,  disposing  as  he  best  could  of  a  little 
bitter  moisture  that  had  gathered  in  the  deep 
corners  of  his  eyes.  ' '  It'll  no  be  very  joyful 
when  it  comes,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a 
pang  of  which  nobody  was  aware,  and  stood 
forming  his  lips  into  an  inaudible  whistle  to 
conceal  how  they  quivered.  He,  too,  had 
built  high  hopes  upon  this  young  head  which 
was  now  lying  low.  He  had  said  to  himself, 
with  the  involuntary  bitterness  of  a  mind  dis- 
appointed and  forlorn,  that  here  at  least  was 
a  life  free  from  all  shadows, — free  from  the 
fate  that  seemed  to  follow  all  who  belonged 
to  himself, — through  whom  be  might  again 
reconcile  himself  to  Providence,  and  recon- 
ne^  himself  with  existence.  As  he  stood 
now,  with  his  back  to  Colin,  Lauderdale  was 
again  going  over  the  burning  ploughshares, 
enduring  the  fiery  ordeal.  Once  more  his 
unselfish  hope  was  going  out  in  darkness. 
When  he  returned  to  them,  his  lips  had 
steadied  into  the  doleful  turn  of  a  familiar 
air,  which  was  connected  in  Colin'a  mind 
with  many  an  amusing  and  many  a  tender 
recollection.  Between  the  two  people  who 
were  regarding  him  with  love  and  anguish  so 
intense,  the  sick  youth  burst  into  pleasant 
laughter, — laughter  which  had  almost  sur- 
prised the  bystanders  into  helpless  tears, — 
and  repeated,  with  firmer  breath  than  Laud- 
erdale's, the  fragment  of  his  favorite  air. 

"  He  never  gets  beyond  that  bar,"  said 
Colin.  "  It  carries  me  back  to  Glasgow,  and 
all  the  old  days.  We  used  to  call  it  Lauder- 
dale's pibroch.  Give  me  my  dinner,  mother. 
I  don't  see  what  I  should  grumble  about  as 
long  as  you  and  he  are  by  me.     Help  me  to 


98 

get  up,  old  fellow,"  the  younc;  in;in  said, 
holding  out  iiis  handi?,  and  ate  hio  invalid 
meal  cheerfully,  with  eager  questions  about 
all  his  old  coippanions,  and  bursts  of  passing 
laughter,  which  to  the  ears  of  his  friend  were 
more  terrible  than  so  many  groans.  As  for 
the  mistress,  she  had.  become  by  this  time 
accustomed  to  connect  together  those  two 
ideas  of  Colin  and  a  sick-bed,  the  conjunction 
of  which  was  as  yet  misery  to  Lauderdale; 
and  she  was  glad  in  her  boy's  pleasure,  and 
took  trembling  hope  from  every  new  evidence 
of  his  unbroken  spirit.  Before  long  the  old 
current  of  talk  had  flowed  into  its  usual  chan- 
nel ;  and,  but  for  the  strange,  novel  circum- 
stances which  surrounded  them,  one  at  least 
of  the  party  might  have  forgotten  for  the  mo- 
ment that  they  were  not  in  the  pleasant  par- 
lor of  Ramore  ;  but  that  one  did  not  see  his 
own  countenance,  its  eloquent  brightness,  its 
flashes  of  sudden  color,  and  the  shining  of  its 
too  brilliant  eyes. 

But  there  could  not  be  any  doubt  that 
Colin  iuiproved  from  that  moment.  Lauder- 
dale had  secured  a  little  lodging  in  the  vil- 
lage, from  which  he  came  every  morning  to 
the  "  callant,"  in  whom  his  disappointed 
xianhood,  too  careless  of  personal  good,  too 
i.'cditative  and  speculative  for  any  further 
ambition  on  his  own  account,  had  fixed  his 
last  hopes.  He  even  came,  in  time,  after  he 
had  accustomed  himself  to  Colin's  illness,  to 
share,  by  moments,  in  the  mistress's  hopes. 
When  Colin  at  last  got  up  from  his  be^kit 
was  Lauderdale's  arm  he  leant  on.  That 
was  an  eventful  day  to  the  little  anxious 
group  in  the  sick-chamber,  whose  hopes 
sometimes  leaped  to  certainty, — whose  fears, 
with  an  intuition  deeper  still,  sometimes  fell 
to  the  other  extreme,  and  were  hushed  in  the 
silence  of  an  anguish  too  deep  to  be  fathomed, 
from  which  thought  itself  drew  back.  It  was 
a  bright  winter  day,  with  symptoms  of  spring 
in  the  air,  when  the  young  patient  got  up 
from  his  weary  bed.  Colin  made  very  light 
of  his  weakness  in  the  rising  tide  of  his 
spirits.  He  faltered  across  the  room  upon 
Lauderdale's  arm,  to  look  out  again,  as  he 
said,  upon  the  world.  It  was  an  unfortunate 
moment  for  his  renewal  of  acquaintance 
with  the  bright  outside  sphere  of  ordinary 
life,  which  had  passed  on  long  ago,  and  for- 
gotten Colin.  The  room  in  which  they  had 
placed  him  when  his  illness  beg-.m  was  one  of 
the  best  rooms  in  the  house,  and  looked  out 


A    SON     OF    THE    SOIL. 


upon  the  terrace  and  the  big  holly-trees 
which  Colin  knew  so  well.  It  was  the  morn- 
ing of  the  day  on  which  Lady  Frankland's 
ball  was  to  take  place,  and  symptoms  of 
excitement  and  preparation  were  apparent. 
Immediately  in  front  of  the  window,  when 
Colin  looked  out.  Miss  Matty  was  standing 
in  animated  talk  with  her  cousin.  They  had 
been  loitering  about,  as  people  do  in  the 
morning  about  a  country-house,  with  no  par- 
ticular occupation, — for  the  sun  was  warm, 
though  it  was  still  only  the  end  of  January, — 
and  Mi>tty  was  at  the  moment  engaged  in 
indicating  some  special  designs  of  her  own, 
which  were  involved  in  Lady  Frankland's 
alterations  in  the  flower-garden,  for  Harry's 
approval.  She  had,  indeed,  just  led  liira  by 
the  sleeve  into  the  midst  of  the  half-com- 
pleted design,  and  was  describing  circles 
round  him  with  the  walking-stick  which  she 
had  taken  out  of  his  hand  for  the  purpose,  as 
Colin  stood  tremulous  and  uncertain  by  the 
window,  looking  out.  Nobody  could  look 
brighter  than  Miss  Matty ;  nobody  more 
happy  than  the  heir  of  Wodensbourne.  If 
the  sick  man  had  entertained  any  hope  that 
his  misfortune  threw  a  sympathetic  shadow 
over  them,  he  must  now  have  been  undeceived 
very  summarily.  Colin,  however,  bore  the 
trial  without  flinching.  He  looked  at  them 
as  if  they  were  miles  or  ages  away,  with  a 
strange  smile,  which  did  not  seem  to  the 
anxious  spectators  to  have  any  bitterness  in 
it.  But  he  made  no  remark  until  he  had  left 
the  window,  and  taken  his  place  on  the  sofa 
which  had  been  arranged  for  him  by  the  fire. 
Then  he  smiled  again,  without  looking  at  any 
one,  with  abstract  eyes,  which  went  to  the 
hearts  of  his  attendants.  "  How  far  ofl"  the 
world  seems  !  "  said  Colin.  "  I  feel  as  if  I 
ought  to  be  vexed  by  that  paltry  scene  on  the 
terrace.  Don't  you  think  so,  mother  ?  But 
I  am  not  vexed,  no  more  than  if  it  was  a  pic- 
ture.    I  wonder  what  it  means?  " 

"Eh,  Colin,  my  man,  it  means  you're  get- 
ting sti-ong  and  no  heeding  about  them  and 
their  vanities !  "  "cried  the  mistress,  whoso 
indignant  eyes  were  full  of  tears  ;  but  Colin 
only  shook  his  head  and  smiled,  and  made 
no  reply.  He  was  not  indignant.  He  did 
not  seem  to  care  or  be  interested  one  way 
or  another,  but,  as  a  spectator  might  have 
done,  mused  on  the  wonderful  contrast,  and 
asked  himself  what  God  could  mean  by  it? — 
a  question  which  there  was  no  one  to  answer. 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


Later  the  curate  came  to  visit  him,  as  indeed 
he  had  done  several  times  before,  praying  out 
of  his  well-worn  prayer-book  by  Colin's  bed- 
side in  a  way  which  at  first  scandalized  the 
mistress,  who  had,  however,  become  used  to 
him  by  this  time.  "  It's  better  to  speak  out 
of  a  book  than  to  speak  nonsense,"  Mrs. 
Campbell  had  said  ;  "  but  eh,  Colin,  it's  aw- 
^fu'  to  think  that  a  man  like  that  hasna  a 
word  out  of  his  ain  heart  to  make  interces-» 
eion  for  his  fellow-creatures  when  they're  in 
trouble."  However,  the  curate  was  kind, 
and  the  mother  was  speedily  mollified.  As 
for  that  excellent  clergyman  himself,  he  did 
not  at  all  understand  the  odd  company  in 
which  he  found  himself  when  he  looked  from 
Colin,  of  whom  he  knew  most,  to  the  mother 
with  her  thoughtful  eyes,  and  to  the  gaunt, 
gigantic  friend,  who  looked  upon  everything 
in  a  speculative  way  of  which  the  curate  had 
an  instinctive  suspicion.  To-day  Colin's  vis- 
itor was  more  instructive  and  hortatory  than 
was  at  all  usual  for  him.  He  spoke  of  the 
mercy  of  God,  which  had  so  far  brought  the 
patient  toward  recovery,  and  of  the  motives 
for  thankfulness  ;  to  which  Mrs.  Campbell 
assented  with  silent  tears. 

"  Yes,"  said  Colin  ;  and  there  was  a  little 
pause  that  surprised  the  curate.  "  It  is  com- 
fortable to  be  better,"  said  the  patient  ;  "  but 
it  would  be  more  than  comfortable  if  one 
could  but.know,  if  one  could  but  guess,  what 
meaning  God  has  in  it  all.  There  is  Frank- 
land  down-stairs  with  his  cousin,  quite  well," 
said  Colin.  "  I  wonder  does  he  ever  ask  him- 
self why  ?  When  one  is  on  the  wrong  side 
of  the  contrast,  one  feels  it  more,  I  suppose." 
The  curate  had  passed  Harry  Frankland  be- 
fore he  came  up-stairs,  and  had,  perhaps,  been 
conscious  in  his  own  mind  of  a  momentary 
personal  comparison  and  passing  wonder, 
even  at  the  difference  between  his  own  lot 
and  that  of  the  heir  of  Wodensbourne.  But 
he  had  thought  the  idea  a  bad  one,  and  crush- 
ed it  at  once  ;  and  Colin's  thought,  though 
more  justifiable,  was  of  the  same  description, 
and  demanded  instant  extinction. 

"  You  don't  grudge  him  his  good  fortune, 
I  am  sure ;  and  then  we  know  there  must  be 
inequalities  in  this  life,"  said  the  curate. 
"  It  is  very  mysterious,  but  nothing  goes 
without  compensation  ;  and  then  we  must 
always  remember  that '  whom  the  Lord  lev- 


99 

eth  he  chasteneth,'  "  said  the  good  clergy- 
man. "You  are  young  to  have  so  much 
suffering  ;  but  you  can  always  take  comfort 
in  that." 

"  Then  you  mean  me  to  think  that  God 
does  not  love  Harry  Frankland,"  said  Colin, 
"  and  makes  a  favorite  of  me  in  this  gloomy 
way?  Do  you  really  think  so? — fori  can- 
not be  of  that  opinion,  for  my  part." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Campbell,"  said  the  curate, 
"  I  am  very  much  grieved  to  hear  you  speak- 
ing like  this.  Did  not  God  give  up  his  own 
Son  to  sufferings  of  which  we  have  no  con- 
ception ?     Did  not  he  endure  " — 

"  It  was  for  a  cause,"  said  Colin.  The 
young  man's  voice  fell,  and  the  former  bitter- 
ness came  back  upon  him.  "He  suffered 
for  the  greatest  reason,  and  knew  why  ;  but 
we  are  in  the  dark,  and  know  nothing  ;  why 
is  it?  One  with  all  the  blessings  of  life — 
another  stripped,  impoverished,  brought  to 
the  depths,  and  no  reason  in  it,  no  occasion, 
no  good  !  "  said  Colin,  in  the  momentary  out- 
cry of  his  wonder  and  passion.  He  was  in- 
terrupted, but  not  by  words  of  sacred  conso- 
lation. Lauderdale  was  sitting  behind,  out 
of  the  way,  humming  to  himself,  in  a  kind 
of  rude  chant,  out  of  a  book  he  held  in  his 
hand.  Nobody  had  been  taking  any  notice 
of  him  ;  for  it  was  his  way.  Now  his  voice 
rose  and  broke  in,  in  an  uncouth  swell  of 
sound,  not  unharmonious  with  the  rude  verse, 

"  Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die," 

said  Lauderdale,  with  a  break  of  strong  emo- 
tion in  his  voice  ;  and  he  got  up  and  threw 
down  the  book,  and  came  forward  into  the 
little  circle.  It  was  the  first  time  that  he 
had  intimated  by  so  much  as  a  look  his 
knowledge  of  anything  perilous  in  Colin's 
illness.  Now  he  came  and  stood  opposite  him, 
leaning  his  back  against  the  wall.  "  Cal- 
lant,"  said  the  strong  man,  with  a  voice  that 
sounded  as  if  it  were  blown  about  and  inter- 
rupted by  a  strong  win5,  "  if  I  were  on  a 
campaign,  the  man  I  would  envy  would  be 
him  that  was  chosen  by  his  general  for  the 
forlorn  hope, — him  that  went  first,  and  met 
the  wildest  of  the  battle.  Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me-  you're  no  ready  to  follow  when  he 
puts  the  colors  in  your  hand  ?  ' ' 


100 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


•  PART  VIII. — CHAPTER  XXIII. 

It  was  for  about  six  weeks  altogether  that 
the  niietrees  of  Ramore  remained  Sir  Thomas 
Frankland's  guest.  For  half  of  that  time 
Lauderdale,  too,  tall  and  gaunt  and  grim, 
strode  daily  over  the  threshold  of  Wodens- 
bourne.  lie  neyer  broke  bread,  as  he  him- 
self expressed  it,  nor  made  the  slightest 
claim  upon  the  hospitality  of  the  stranger's 
house.  On  the  contrary,  he  declined  stead- 
ily every  advance  of  friendship  that  was 
made  to  him  with  a  curious  Scotch  pride, 
extremely  natural  to  him,  but  odd  to  con- 
template from  the  point  of  view  at  which 
the  Franklands  stood.  They  asked  him  to 
dinner  or  to  lunch  as  they  would  have  asked 
any  other  stranger  who  happened  to  come  in 
their  way ;  but  Lauderdale  was  far  too  self- 
conscious  to  accept  such  overtures.  He  had 
come  uninvited,  an  undesired,  perhaps  un- 
welcome, visitor ;  but  not  for  the  worl(J 
would  the  philosopher  have  taken  advantage 
of  his  position,  as  Colin's  friend,  to  procure 
himself  the  comfort  of  a  meal.  Not  if  he 
had  been  starving,  would  he  have  shared 
Colin's  dinner,  or  accepted  the  meat  oifered 
him  at  the  luxurious  table  below.  "  Na, 
na  !  I  came  without  asking,"  said  Lauder- 
dale ;  "  when  they  bid  me  to  their  feasts, 
it's  no  for  your  sake,  callant,  or  for  my 
sake,  but  for  their  own  sakes, — for  good 
breeding  and  good  manners,  and  not  to  be 
uncivil.  To  force  a  dinner  out  of  civility  is 
every  bit  as  shabby  an  action  as  to  steal  it. 
I'm  no  the  man  to  sorn  on  Sir  Thomas  for 
short  time  or  long."  And  in  pursuance  of 
this  whimsical  idea  of  independence,  Lauder- 
dale went  back  every  evening  along  the  dark 
country  lanes  to  the  little  room  he  had  rented 
in  the  village,  and  subdued  his  reluctant 
Scotch  appetite  to  the  messes  of  bacon  and 
beans  he  found  there, — which  was  as  severe 
a  test  of  friendship  as  could  have  been  im- 
posed upon  him.  He  was  not  accustomed  to 
fare  very  sumptuously  at  home  ;  but  the  fare 
of  an  English  cottager  is,  if  more  costly,  at 
least  as  distasteful  to  an  untravelled  Scotch 
appetite  as  the  native  porridge  and  broth  of 
a  Scotch  peasant  could  be  to  his  neighbor 
over  the  Tweed.  The  greasy  meal  filled 
Lauderdale  with  disgust ;  but  it  did  not 
change  his  resolution.  He  lived  like  a 
Spartan  on  the  bread  which  he  could  cat, 
and  cauie  back  daily  to  his  faithful  tendance 
of   the  young  companion  who  now  repre- 


sented to  him  almost  all  that  he  loved  in  the 
world.  Colin  grew  better  during  these 
weeks.  The  air  of  home  which  his  mother 
brought  with  her,  the  familiar  discussions 
and  philosophies  with  which  Laudei-dale 
filled  the  weary  time,  gave  him  a  connect- 
ing link  once  more  with  the  old  life.  And 
the  new  life  again  rose  before  Colin,  fresh 
and  solemn  and  glorious.  Painfully  and 
eharply  he  had  been  delivered  from  his  delu- 
sions,— those  innocent  delusions  which  were 
virtues.  He  began  to  see  that,  if  indeed 
there  ever  was  a  woman  in  the  world  for 
whom  it  was  worth  a  man's  while  to  sacri- 
fice his  existence  and  individuality.  Miss 
Matty,  of  all  women,  was  not  she.  And 
after  this  divergence  out  of  his  true  path, — 
after  this  cloud  that  had  come  over  him,  and 
which  looked  as  though  it  might  swallow 
him  up,  it  is  not  to  be  described  how  beauti- 
ful his  own  young  life  looked  to  Colin,  when 
it  seemed  to  himself  that  he  was  coming 
back  to  it,  and  was  about  to  enter  once  more 
upon  his  natural  career. 

"  I  wonder  how  Macdonald  will  get  on  at 
Baliol,"  he  said  ;  "of  course  he'll  get  the 
scholarship.  It's  no  use  regretting  what 
cannot  be  helped  ;  but  when  a  man  takes  the 
wrong  turning  once  in  his  life,  do  you  think 
he  can  get  into  the  right  road  again?  "  said 
Colin.  He  had  scarcely  spoken  tlie  words 
when  a  smile  gradually  stealing  over  his 
face,  faint  and  soft  like  the  rising  of  the 
moon,  intimated  to  his  companions  that  he 
had  already  answered  himself.  Not  only  so, 
but  that  the  elasticity  of  his  youth  bad  de- 
livered Colin  from  all  heavier  apprehensions. 
He  was  not  afraid  of  the  wrong  turning  he 
had  taken.  He  was  but  playing  with  the 
question  in  a  kind  of  tender  wantonness. 
Neither  his  Health  nor  his  lost  opportunity 
gave  him  much  trouble.  The  tide  of  life 
had  risen  in  his  heart,  and  again  everything 
seemed  possible ;  and  such  being  the  case, 
he  trifled  pleasantly  with  the  dead  doubts 
which  existed  no  longer.  "  There  is  a  tide 
in  the  affairs  of  men,"  Colin  said  to  him- 
self, smiling  over  it;  and  the  two  people 
who  were  looking  at  him,  whose  hearts  and 
whose  eyes  were  studying  every  change  in 
his  fiicc,  saw  that  a  new  era  had  begun,  and 
did  not  know  whether  to  exchange  looks  of 
gratulation  or  to  betake  themselves  to  the 
silence  and  darkness  to  shed  tears  of  despair 
over  the  false  hope. 


A    SON    OF 

"  When  a  callant  goes  a  step  astray,  you 
mean,"  said  Lauderdale,  with  a  harshness 
in  his  voice  which  sounded  contemptuous  to 
Colin, — "  goes  out  of  his  way  a  step  to 
gather  a  flower  or  the  like  ;  a  man  that 
takes  a  wrong  turn  is  altogether  a  false 
eemage.  Everything  in  this  world  is  awfu' 
mysterious,"  said  the  philosopher.  "  I'm 
no  clear  in  my  mind  about  that  wrong  turn- 
ing. According  to  some  theories,  there's  no 
such  thing  in  existence.  '  All  things  work 
together  for  good.'  I  would  like  to  know 
what  was  in  Paul's  head  when  he  wrote 
down  that.  No  to  enter  into  the  question 
of  inspiration,  the  opinion  of  a  man  like 
^^m  is  aye  worth  having ;  but  it's  an  awfu' 
^Rysterious  saying  to  me." 

"  Eh,  but  it's  true,"  said  the  mistress; 
"you're  no  to  throw  ony  of  your  doubts 
upon  Providence.  1*11  no  say  but  what  it's 
a  hard  struggle  whiles  ;  but  if  God  doesna 
ken  best, — if  he's  not  the  wisest  and  the  kind- 
est, I  would  rather,  for  my  part,  come  to  an 
end  without  ony  more  ado  about  it.  I'm  no 
wanting  to  live  either  in  earth  or  heaven  if 
there's  ony  doubts  about  him." 

"  That's  aye  the  way  with  women,"  said 
Lauderdale,  reflectively.  "  They've  nae  pa- 
tience for  a  philosophical  question.  But  the 
practical  argument  is  no  doubt  awfu'  power- 
ful,  and  I.  can  say  nothing  against  it.  I'm 
greatly  of  the  same  way  o'  thinking  myself. 
Life's  no  worth  having  on  less  terms,  but  at 
the  same  time  " — 

"  I  was  speaking  only  of  the  Baliol  Schol- 
arship," said  Colin,  with  a  momentary  pet- 
tishness  ;  "  you  are  more  abstruse  than  ever, 
Lauderdale.  If  there  should  happen  to  be 
another  vacancy  next  year,  do  you  think  I've 
injured  myself  by  neglecting  this  one  !  I 
never  felt  more  disposed  for  work,"  said  the 
young  man,  raising  himself  out  of  his  chair. 
It  said  a  great  deal  for  his  returning  strength 
that  the  two  anxious  spectators  allowed  him 
to  get  up  and  walk  to  the  window  without 
offering  any  assistance.  The  evening  was 
just  falling,  and  Colin  looked  out  upon  a  gray 
landscape  of  leafless  trees  and  misty  flats, 
over  which  the  shadows  gathered.  He  came 
back  again  with  a  little  exclamation  of  im- 
patience. "  I  hate  these  dull  levels,"  said 
the  restless  invalid  ;  "  the  earth  and  the 
skies  are  silent  here,  and  have  nothing  to  say. 
Mother,  why  do  we  not  go  home?"  He 
Btood  before  her  for  a  moment  in  the  twilight, 


THE    SOIL  101 

looking,  in  his  diminished  bulk  and  ajipar- 
ently  increased  height,  like  a  shadow  of  what 
he  was.  Then  he  threw  himself  back  in  hia 
chair  with  an  impatience  partly  assumed  to 
conceal  the  weakness  of  which  he  was  pain- 
fully sensible.  "  Let  us  go  to-morrow, "said 
Colin,  closing  his  eyes.  He  was  in  the  state 
of  weakness  which  feels  every  contradiction 
an  injury,  and  already  had  been  more  rufiied 
in  spirit  than  he  cared  to  acknowledge  by 
the  diversion  of  the  talk  from  his  own  indi- 
vidual concerns  to  a  general  question  so  large 
and  so  serious.  He  lay  back  in  his  chair, 
with  his  eyes  closed,  and  those  clouds  of 
brown  hair  of  which  his  mother  was  so  proud 
hanging  heavily  over  the  forehead  which, 
when  it  was  visible,  looked  so  pale  and  worn 
out  of  its  glory  of  youth.  The  color  of  day 
had  all  gone  out  of  the  whispering,  solemn 
twilight  ;  and  when  the  mistress  looked  at 
the 'face  before  her,  pale,  with  all  its  outlines 
rigid  in  the  gray  light,  and  its  eyes  closed, 
it  was  not  wonderful  that  a  shiver  went 
through  her  heart. 

"  That  was  just  what  I  had  to  speak  about, 
Colin,  my  man,"  said  Mrs.  Campbell,  nerv- 
ing herself  for  the  task  before  her.  "  I  see 
no  reason  myself  against  it,  for  I've  aye  had 
a  great  confidence  in  native  air ;  but  your 
grand  doctor  that  was  brought  down  from 
London  " — 

"  Do  not  say  anything  more.  I  shall  not 
stay  here,  mother  ;  it  is  impossible  !  I  am 
throwing  away  my  life !  "  cried  Colin,  hast- 
ily, not  waiting  to  hear  her  out.  "  Anybody 
can  teach  this  boy.  As  for  the  Franklands, 
I  have  done  enough  for  them.  They  have  no 
right  to  detain  me.  We  will  go  to-morrow," 
the  young  man  repeated,  with  the  petulance 
of  his  weakness ;  ■  to  which  Mrs.  Campbeli 
did  not  know  how  to  reply. 

"  But,  Colin,  my  man,"  said  the  mistress, 
after  a  pause  of  perplexity,  "  it's  no  that 
I'm  meaning.  Spring's  aye  sweet,  and  it's 
sweet  aboon  a'  in  your  ain  place,  when  ye  ken 
every  corner  to  look  for  a  primrose  in.  I 
said  that  to  the  doctor,  Colin  ;  but  he  wasna 
of  my  opinion.  A'  that  was  in  his  mind  was 
the  east  wind  (no  that  tHwe's  much  o'  that 
in  our  country-side  ;  but  those  English  canna 
tell  one  airt  from  another)  and  the  soft 
weather,  and  I  couldna  say  but  what  it  was 
whiles  damp,"  said  the  candid  woman  ;  "  and 
the  short  and  the  long  is,  that  he  said  you  were 
to  gang  south  and  no  north.    I'm  no  mean- 


102 

ing  hia.  If  it  waena  for  your  healtlrs  sake, 
which  keeps  folks  anxious,  it  would  sound 
ewer  grand  to  be  possible,"  she  continued, 
with  a  wistful  smile,  "  and  awfu'  proud  I 
would  be  to  think  of  my  laddie  in  ItaLy  " — 

"  In  Italy  ?  "  said  Colin,  with  a  cry  of  ex- 
citement and  surprise  ;  and  then  they  both 
stopped  short,  and  he  looked  in  his  mother's 
eyes,  whigh  would  not  meet  his,  and  which 
he  could  see,  hard  as  she  struggled  to  keep 
them  unseen,  were  wet  and  shining  with 
tears.  "  People  are  sent  to  Italy  to  die," 
said  the  young  man.  "  I  suppose  that  is 
what  the  doctor  thinks,  and  that  is  your 
opinion,  ray  poor  mother?  and  Lauderdale 
thinks  so?  Don't  say  no.  No,  I  can  see  it 
in  your  eyes." 

"  Oh,  Colin,  dinna  say  that !  dinna  break 
my  heart!  "  cried  the  mistress.  "  I'm  tell- 
ing you  every  word  the  doctor  said.  He 
said  it  would  be  better  for  you  in  future,— ^for 
your  strength,  and  for  getting  free  of  danger 
in  the  many  hard  winters, — dour  Scotch  win- 
ters, frost,  and  snow,  and  stormy  weather, 
and  you  your  duty  to  mind  night  and  day." 
She  made  a  little  pause  to  get  her  breath, 
and  smiled  upon  Colin,  and  went  on  hastily, 
lest  she  should  break  down  before  all  was  said. 
"  In  the  many  hard  winters  that  you  have 
to  look  forward  to — the  lang  life  that's  to 
come  " — 

"  Lauderdale,"  said  Colin,  out  of  the 
darkness,  "  do  you  hear  her  saying  what  she 
thinks  is  deception  and  falsehood  ?  My  moth- 
er is  obliged  to  tell  me  the  doctor's  lie  ;  but  it 
stumbles  on  her  lips.  That  is  not  how  she 
would  speak  of  herself.     She  would  say  " — 

"  Callant,  hold  your  peace,"  said  Lauder- 
dale. His  voice  was  so  harsh  and  strange 
that  it  jarred  in  the  air,  and  he  rose  up  with  a 
sudden  movement,  rising  like  a  tower  into 
the  twilight,  through  which  the  pleasant  re- 
flections from  the  fire  sparkled  and  played  as 
lightly  as  if  the  talk  had  been  all  of  pleasure. 
"  Be  silent,  sir  !  "  cried  Colin'e friend.  "  How 
dare  you  say  to  me  that  any  word  but  truth 
can  come  out  of  the  mistress's  lips?  How 
dare  ye  " —  But  here  Lauderdale  himself 
came  to  a  sudden  pRise.  He  went  to  the  win- 
dow, as  Colin  had  done,  and  then  came  quick- 
ly back  again.  "Because  we're  a  wee  con- 
cerned and  anxious  about  him,  he  thinks  he 
may  say  what  he  likes,"  said  the  philosopher, 
with  a  strange,  short  laugh.  "  It's  the  way 
with  such  callants.     They're  kings,  and  give 


A     SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


the  laws  to  us  that  ken  better.  You  may 
say  what  you  like,  Colin  ;  but  you  must  not 
name  anything  that's  no  true  with  your 
mother's  name." 

It  is  strange  to  fcel  that  you  are  going  die. 
It  is  stranger  still  to  see  your  friends,  pro- 
foundly conscious  of  the  awful  news  they 
have  to  convey,  painfully  making  light  of  it, 
and  trying  to  look  as  if  they  meant  nothing. 
Colin  perceived  the  signification  of  his  moth- 
er's pathetic  smiles,  of  hie  friend's  impa- 
tience, of  the  vigilant  watch  they  kept  upon 
him.  He  saw  that,  if  perhaps  h?r  love  kept 
a  desperate  spark  of  hope  alight  in  the  mis- 
tress' heart,  it  was  desperate,  and  she  put 
no  confidence  in  it.  All  this  he  perceived, 
with  the  rapid  and  sudden  perception  whiclf^ 
comes  at  such  a  crisis.  Perhaps  for  a  mo- 
ment tlie  blood. went  back  upon  his  heart 
with  a  suffocating  sense  of  danger,  against 
which  he  could  make  no  stand,  and  of  an 
inevitable  approaching  fate  which  he  could 
not  avoid  or  flee  from.  The  next  minute  he 
laughed  aloud.  The  sound  of  his  laughter 
was  strange  and  terrible  to  his  companions. 
The  mistress  took  her  boy's  hand  and  caressed 
it,  and  spoke  to  him  in  the  soothing  words  of 
his  childhood.  "  Colin,  my  man, — Colin, 
my  bonnie  man,"  said  the  mother,  whose 
heart  was  breaking.  She  thought  his  laugh 
sounded  like  defiance  of  God, — defiance  of  the 
approaching  doom  ;  and  such  a  fear  was 
worse  even  than  the  dread  of  losing  him. 
She  kept  his  reluctant  fingers  in  hers,  hold- 
ing him  fast  to  the  faith  and  the  resigna- 
tion of  his  home.  As  for  Lauderdale,  he 
went  away  out  of  sight,  struggling  with  a 
hard  sob  which  all  his  strength  could  not  re- 
strain ;  and  it  was  in  the  silence  of  this  mo- 
ment that  Colin'e  laugh,  more  faintly,  more 
softly,  with  a  playful  sound  that  went  to  his 
heart,  echoed  again  into  the  room. 

"  Don't  hold  me,  mother,"  he  said  :  "  I 
could  not  run  away  from  you  if  I  would. 
You  think  I  don't  take  my  discovery  as  I 
ought  to  do?  If  it  is  true,"  said  Colin,  grasp- 
ing hie  mother's  hand,  "  you  will  have  time 
enough  to  be  miserable  about  me  after ;  let 
us  be  happy  as  long  as  we  can.  But  I  don't  • 
think  it  is  true.  I  have  died  and  come  alive 
again.  I  am  not  going  to  die  any  more 
just  now,"  said  Colin,  with  a  smile  jvhich 
was  more  than  his  mother  could  bear,  and 
his  eyes  so  fixed  upon  her,  that  her  efforts  to 
swallow  the  climbing  sorrow  in  her   throat 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


•were  such  as  consumed  her  strength.  But 
even  then  it  was  of  him  and  not  herself  that 
she  thought.  "  I  wasna  moaning, — I  wasna 
saying,"  she  tried  to  articulate  in  her  broken 
voice  ;  and  then  at  intervals,  "  A'  can'  be 
borne — a'  can  be  borne — that  doesna  go 
against  the  will  of  God.  Oh,  Colin,  my  ain 
laddie  !  we  maun  a'  die ;  but  we  must  not' 
rebel  against  him  !  "  cried  the  mistress.  A 
little  more,  and  even  she,  though  long-en- 
during as  love  could  make  her,  must  have 
reached  the  limits  of  her  strength  ;  but  Colin, 
strangely  enough,  was  noway  disposed  for 
solemnity,  nor  for  seriousness.  He  was  at 
the  height  of  the  rebound,  and  disposed  to 
carry  his  nurses  with  him  to  that  smiling 
mountain-top  from  which  death  and  sorrow 
had  dispersed  like  samany  mists  and  clouds. 

"  Come  to  the  window,  and  look  out,"  said 
Colin  :  "  take  my  arm,  mother  ;  it  feels  nat- 
ural to  have  you  on  my  arm.  Look  here — 
there  are  neither  hills  nor  waters,  but  there 
are  always  stars  about.  T  don't  mean  to  be 
discouraged,"  said  the  young  man, — he  had 
to  lean  against  the  window  to  support  himself; 
but,  all  the  same,  he  supported  her,  keeping 
fast  hold  of  the  hand  on  his  arm, — "  I  don't 
mean  to  be  discouraged,"  said  Colin,  "nor 
to  let  you  be  discouraged.  I  have  been  in 
the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  ;  but  I  have 
come  out  again.  It  does  not  matter  to  me 
what  the  doctor  says,  or  what  Lauderdale 
says,  or  any  other  of  my  natural  enemies. 
You  and  T,  mother,  know  better,"  he  said; 
"  I  am  not  going  to  die."  The  two  stood  at 
the  window,  looking  up  to  the  faint  stars, 
two  faces  cast  in  the  same  mould, — one  dis- 
traught with  a  struggling  of  hope  against 
knowledge,  against  experience  ;  the  other  ra- 
diant with  a  smile  of  youth.  "  I  am  not 
quite  able  to  walk  over  the  Alps,  at  present," 
said  Colin,  leading  the  mistress  back  to  her 
chair  ;  "  but  for  all  that,  let  us  go  to  Italy, 
since  the  doctor  says  so.  And,  Lauderdale, 
come  out  of  the  dark  and  light  the  candles, 
and  don't  talk  any  more  nonsense.  "We  are 
going  to  have  a  consultation  about  the  ways 
and  means.  I  don't  know  how  it  is  to  be 
done,"  said  Colin,  gayly,  "  since  we  have  not 
a  penny,  nor  has  anybody  belonging  to  us  ; 
but  still,  since  you  say  so,  mother,  and  the 
doctor  and  Lauderdale  " — 

TlUg  mistress,  all  trembling  and  agitated, 
rose  at  this  moment  to  help  Lauderdale,  who 
had  come,  forward  wfthout  saying  anything. 


103 

to  do  the  patient's  bidding.  "  You'll  no  be 
angry?  "  said  Mrs.  Campbell,  under  breath  : 
"  it's  a'  his  spirits;  he  means  nothing  but 
love  and  kindness. ' '  Lauderdale  met  her  eye 
with  a  countenance  almost  as  much  disturbed 
as  her  own. 

"  Me  angry  !  "  said  Colin's  friend  ;  "  he 
might  have  my  head  for  a  football,  if  that 
would  please  him."  The  words  were  said  in 
an  undertone  which  sounded  li^e  a  sup- 
pressed growl  ;  and  as  such  Colin  took  the 
little  clandestine  exchange  of  confidence. 

"  Is  he  grumbling,  mother?  "  said  the  ob- 
ject of  their  cares.  "  Never  mind  ;  he  likes 
to  grumble.  Now  come  to  the  fire,  both  of 
you,  and  talk.  They  are  oracles,  these  great 
doctors  ;  they  tell  you  what  you  are  to  do 
without  telling  you  how  to  do  it.  Must  I  go 
to  Italy  in  a  balloon?  "  said  Colin.  "  After 
all,  if  it  were  possible,  it  would  be  worth  be- 
ing ill  for,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  sud- 
den illumination  in  his  eyes.  He  took  the 
management  of  aifairs  into  his  own  hands  for 
the  evening,  and  pointed  out  to  them  where 
they  were  to  sit  with  the  despotism  of  an  in- 
valid. "  Now  we  look  comfortable,"  said 
Colin,  "  and  are  prepared  to  listen  to  sug- 
gestions. Lauderdale,  your  mind  is  specula-^ 
tive  ;  do  you  begin." 

It  was  thus  that  Colin  defeated  the  gath- 
ering dread  and  anguish  which,  even  in  the 
face  of  his  apparent  recovery,  closed  more 
and  more  darkly  round  him  ;  and  as  what 
he  did  and  said  did  not  arise  from  any  set 
purpose  or  conscious  intention,  but  was  the 
mere  expression  of  instinctive  feeling,  it  had 
a  certain  inevitable  effect  upon  his  auditors, 
who  brightened  up,  in  spite  of  themselves 
and  their  convictions,  under  his  influence. 
When  Colin  laughed,  instead  of  feeling  in- 
clined to  sob  or  groan  over  him,  evcn^  Lau- 
derdale, after  a  while,  cleared  up,  too,  into  a 
wistful  smile,  and  as  for  the  mistress,  her 
boy's  confidence  came  to  her  like  a  special 
revelation.  She  saw  it  was  not  assumed, 
and  her  heart  rose.  "  When  a  young  crea- 
ture's appointed  to  be  taken,  the  Lord  gives 
him  warning,"  she  said  in  secret ;  "  but  my 
Colin  has  nae  message  in  himself;  "  and  her 
tender  soul  was  charmed  by  the  visionary 
consolation.  It  was  under  the  influence, 
of  the  same  exhilaration  tijut  Lauderdale 
spoke.  ^ 

"I'vegivenupmysituation,"  hesaid.  "No 
but  what  it  was  a  very  honorable  situation, 


104 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


and  no  badly  remunerated  ;  hut  a  man  tires 
of  anything  that's  aye  the  same  day  by  day. 
I've  been  working  hard  a'  my  life  ;  and  it's 
in  the  nature  of  a  man  to  be  craving.  I'm 
goini;;  to  Eetaly  for  my  own  hand,"  said  Lau- 
derdale ;  "  no  on  your  account,  callant.  I've 
had  enough  of  the  prose,  and  now's  the  time 
for  a  bit  poetry.  No  that  I  undertake,  to 
write  verses,  like  you.  If  he  has  not  me  to 
take  care  of  him,  he'll  flee  into  print,"  said 
the  philosopher,  reflectively.  "  It  would  be 
a  terrible  shock  to  me  to  sec  our  first  prize- 
man, the  most  distinguished  student,  as  the 
principal  himself  said,  coming  out  in  a  book 
with  lines  to  Eetaly,  and  verses  about  vine- 
yards and  oranges.  That  kind  of  thing  is  a' 
very  well  for  the  callants  at  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge ;  but  there's  something  more  expected 
from  one  of  m5,"  said  Lauderdale.  "  I'm  go- 
ing to  Eetaly,  as  I  tell  you,  callant,  as  long 
as  there's  a  glimmer  of  something  like  youth 
left  in  me,  to  get  a  bit  poetry  into  my  life. 
You  and  me  will  take  our  knapsacks  on  our 
backs  and  go  off  together.  I  have  a  trifle  in 
the  bank, — a  hundred  pounds,  or  maybe 
mair  :  I  couldn't  say  as  to  a  shilling  or  twa. 
If  I'm  speculative,  as  you  say,  I'm  no  with- 
out a  turn  for  the  practical,  "  he  continued, 
with  some  pride;  "and  everything's  awfu' 
cheap  when  you  know  how  to  manage.  This 
curate  callant, — he  has  no  a  great  deal  of 
sense,  nor  ony  philosophical  judgment,  that 
I  can  see ;  and  as  for  theology,  he  doesna 
understand  what  it  means  ;  but  he  does  not 
seem  to  me  to  be  deficient  in  other  organs," 
said  the  impartial  observer,  "  such  as  the 
heart,  for  example  ;  and  he's  been  about  the 
world,  and  understands  about  inns  and  things. 
Every  living  creature  has  its  use  in  this  life. 
I  wouldna  say  he  was  good  for  very  much  in 
the  way  of  direct  teaching  from  the  pulpit  ; 
but  he's  been  awfu'  instructive  to  me." 

"  And  you  mean  me  to  save  my  life  at 
your  cost?"  said  Colin.  "This  is  what  I 
have  come  to, — at  your  cost,  or  at  my  father's, 
or  by  somebody's  charity  ?  No  ;  I'll  go  home 
and  sit  in  an  easy-chair,  like  poor  Hugh  Car- 
lyle  ;  and,  mother,  you'll  take  care" — 

When  the  sick  man's  fitful  spirits  thus 
yielded  again,  his  mother  was  near  to  soothe 
him  with  a  better  courage.  Again  she  held 
his  hands,  andj||d,  "Colin,  my  man,— Colin, 
my  bonnie  ma^lFwith  the  voice  of  his  child- 
hood. "  You'll  come  back  hale  and  strong 
to  pay  a'body   back  the  trouble,"  said  the 


mistress,  while  Lauderdale  proceeded  un- 
moved, without  seeming  to  hear  what  Colin 
said. 

"  They're  a  mystery  to  me,  those  English 
priests,"  said  the  meditative  Scotcliman. 
"  They're  not  to  call  ignorant,  in  the  general 
sense ;  but  they're  awfu'  simple  in  their  ways. 
To  think  of  a  man  in  possession  of  his  facul- 
ties reading  a  verse,  or  maybe  a  chapter,  out 
of  the  Bible,  which  is  very  near  as  myste- 
rious as  life  itself  to  the  like  of  me,  and  then 
discoursing  about  the  church  and  the  lessons 
appointed  for  this  day  or  that.  It's  a  grand 
tether,  that  praj'er-book,  though.  Yon  kind 
of  callant,  so  long  as  he  keeps  by  that,  he's 
safe  in  a  kind  of  a  way  ;  but  he  knows  noth- 
ing about  W'hat's  doing  outside  bis  printed 
walls,  and  when  he  hears  suddenly  a'  the 
stir  tliat's  in  the  world,  he  loses  his  head  al- 
together, and  takes  to  '  Essays  and  Reviews,' 
and  that  description  of  literature.  But  he's 
awful  instructive,  as  I  was  saying,  in  the  ar- 
ticle of  inns  and  steamboats.  Not  to  say 
that  he's  a  grand  Italian  scholar,  as  far  as  1 
can  understand,  and  reads  Dante  in  the  orig- 
inal. It's  a  wonderful  thought  to  realize  the 
like  of  that  innocent  reading  Dante.  You 
and  me,  Colin,"  said  Lauderdale,  with  a 
sudden  glow  in  his  eyes,  "  will  take  the 
poets  by  the  hand  for  once  in  our  lives. 
What  you  were  saying  about  cost  was  a  won- 
derful sensible  saying  for  yours.  When  the 
siller's  done,  we'll  work  our  way  home  ;  it's 
a  pity  you  have  no  voice  to  speak  of,  and  I 
canna  play  the — guitar  is't  they  call  it?  "  said 
the  philosopher,  with  a  quaint  grimace.  He 
;  was  contemptuous  of  the  lighter  arts,  as  was 
natural  to  his  race  and  habits,  and  once  more 
I  Colin  "s  laugh  sounded  gayly  through  the  room 
j  which,  for  many  weeks,  had  known  little 
laughter.  They  discussed  the  whole  matter, 
half  playfully,  half  seriously,  as  they  sat  over 
the  fire,  growing  eager  about  it  as  they  went 
on.  Lauderdale's  hundred  pounds  "or  more" 
was  the  careful  hoarding  of  years.  He  had 
j  saved  it  as  poor  Scotchmen  are  reported  to 
]  save,  by  minute  economies,  unsuspected  by 
I  richer  men.  But  he  was  ready  to  spend  his 
I  little  fortune  with  the  composure  of  a  mil- 
lionnaire.  "And  myself  after  it,  if  that 
!  would  make  it  more  effectual,"  he  said  to 
I  himself,  as  he  went  back  in  the  darkness  to 
I  his  little  lodging  in  the  village.  LetiUnot 
be  supposed,  however,  that  any  idea  ofself- 
sacrifice  was  in  the  mind  of  Lauderdale.     On 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


105 


the  contrary,  he  contemplated  this  one  possi- 
ble magnificence  of  his  life  with  a  glow  of 
sweet  patis&ction  and  delight.  He  was  will- 
ing to  expend  it  all  upon  Colin,  if  not  to 
eave  him,  at  least  to  please  him.  That  was 
his  pleasure,  the  highest  gratification  of 
which  he  was  capable  in  the  circumstances. 

^  He  made  his  plans  with  the  liberality  of  a 
prince,  without  thinking  twice  about  the 
matter,  though  it  was  all  the  wealth  he  had 
in  the  world  which  he  was  about  to  lavish 
freely,  for  Colin's  sake. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  take  Lauderdale's  money; 
but  we'll  arrange  it  somehow,"  said  Colin; 
"  and  then  for  the  hard  winters  you  speak  of, 
mother,  and  the  labor  night  and  day."  He 
sent  her  away  with  a  smile ;  but  when  he 
had  closed  the  door  of  his  own  apartment, 
which  now,  at  length,  he  was  well  enough  to 
have  to  himself  without  the  attendance  of  any 
nurse,  the  light  went  out  of  the  young  man's 
face.  After  they  were  both  gone,  he  sat  down 
and  began  to  think  ;  things  did  not  look  so 
serene,  so  certain,  so  infallible  when  he  was 
alone.  He  began  to  think,  What  if,  after  all, 
the  doctor  might  be  right?  What  if  it  were 
death  and  not  life  that  was  written  against 
his  name?  The  thought  brought  a  little 
thrill  to  Colin's  heart,  and  then  he  set  him- 
self to  contemplate  the  possibility.  His  faith 
was  shadowy  in  details,  like  that  of  most  peo- 
ple ;  his  ideas  about  heaven  had  shifted  and 
grown  confused  from  the  first  vague  vision  of 

,  beatitude,  the  crowns  and  palms  and  celes- 
tial harps  of  childhood.  What  was  that 
other  existence  into  which,  in  the  fulness 
of  his  youth,  he  might  be  transported  ere  he 
was  aware?  Then,  at  least,  must  be  the  so- 
lution of  all  the  difficulties  that  crazed  the 
minds  of  men  ;  then,  at  least,  nearer  to  God, 
there  must  be  increase  of  faculty,  elevation 
of  soul.  Colin  looked  it  in  the  face,  and  the 
Unknown  did  not  appall  him  ;  but  through 
the  silence  he  seemed  already  to  hear  the  cry 
of  anguish  which  would  go  up  from  one 
homely  house  under  the  unanswering  skies. 
It  had  been  his  home  all  his  life  :  what  would 
it  be  to  him  in  the  event  of  that  change, 
which  was  death,  but  not  destruction?  Must 
le  look  down  from  afar  off,  —  from  some 
cold,  cruel  distance, — upon  the  sorrow  of  his 
friends,  himself  being  happy  beyond  reach, 
bearing  no  share  in  the  burden  ?  Or  might 
he,  according  to  a  still  harder  imagination, 
be  with  them,  beside  them,  but  unable  by 


word  or  look,  by  breath  or  touch,  to  lift 
aside  even  for  a  moment  the  awful  veil,  trans- 
parent to  him,  but  to  them  heavy  and  dark 
as  night,  which  drops  between  the  living  and 
the  dead  ?  It  was  when  his  thoughts  came  to 
this'point  that  Colin  withdrew,  faint  and  sick 
at  heart,  from  the  hopeless  inquiry.  He  went 
to  his  rest,  saying  bis  prayers,  as  he  said  them 
at  his  mother's  knee,  for  Jesus'  sake.  Heaven 
and  earth  swam  in  confused  visions  rpund  the 
brain  which  was  dizzy  with  the  encounter 
of  things  too  mysterious,  too  dark  to  be  fath- 
omed. The  only  thing  in  earth  or  heaven  of 
which  there  seemed  to  be  any  certainty  was 
the  sole  Existence  which  united  both,  in  whose 
name  Colin  said  his  prayers. 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

Miss  Matty  Fkankland  all  this  time  bad 
not  been  without  her  trials.  They  were  tri- 
als a?  unlike  Colin's  as  possible,  but  not 
without  some  weight  and  poignancy  of  their 
own,  such  as  might  naturally  belong  to  the 
secondary  heartaches  of  a  woman  who  was 
far  from  being  destitute  either  of  sense  and 
feeling,  and  yet  was  at  the  same  time  a  lit- 
tle woman  of  the  world.  In  the  first  place, 
she  was  greatly  aggravated  that  Harry,  who, 
on  the  whole,  seemed  to  be  her  fate,  an  inev- 
itable necessity,  should  allow  himself  to  be 
picked  out  of  a  canal  at  the  hazard  of  an- 
other man's  life.  Harry  was,  on  the  whole, 
a  very  good  fellow,  and  was  not  apt  to  fall 
into  an  inferior  place  among  his  equals,  or 
show  himself  less  manful,  courageous,  or  for- 
tunate than  other  people.  But  it  wounded 
Matty's  pride  intensely  to  think  that  she 
might  have  to  marry  a  man  whose  life  had 
been  twice  saved,  all  the  more  as  it  was  not 
a  fault  with  which  he  could  be  reasonably  up- 
braided. And  then,  being  a  woman,  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  refrain  from  a  little 
natural  involuntary  hero-worship  of  the 
other,  who  was  not  only  the  hero  of  these 
adventures,  but  her  own  chivalrous  adorer  to 
boot, — perhaps  the  only  man  in  the  world 
who  had  suffered  his  life  to  be  seriously  af- 
fected by  her  influence.  Not  only  so  ;  but 
at  the  bottom  Mies  Matty  was  fond  of  Colin, 
and  looked  upon  him  with  an  affectionate, 
caressing  regard,  which  was  not  love,  but 
might  very  easily  bear  the  aspect  of  love  by 
moments,  especially  when  its  object  was  in  a 
position  of  special  interest.  Between  these 
two  sentiments  the  young  lady  was  kept  in  a 


106 


A     SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 


state  of  harass  and  worry,  disadvantageous 
both  to  her  looks  and  her  temper, — a  con- 
sciousness of  which  reacted  in  its  turn  upon 
her  feelinp;8.  She  put  it  all  down  to  Harry's 
score  when,  looking  in  her  glass,  she  found 
herself  paler  than  usual.  "  I  wonder  how 
he  could  be  such  an  ass  !  "  she  said  to  herself 
at  such  periods,  with  a  form  of  expression 
unsuitable  for  a  boudoir  ;  and  then  her  heart 
would  melt  toward  his  rival.  There  were 
some  moments  when  she  felt,  or  imagined 
she  felt,  the  thraldom  of  society,  and  uttered 
to  herself  sighs  and  sneers,  half  false  and 
half  true,  about  the  "gilded  chains,"  etc., 
which  bound  her  to  make  her  appearance  at 
Sir  Thomas's  dinner-party,  and  to  take  an 
active  part  in  the  ball.  All  this  conflict  of 
sentiment  was  conscious,  which  made  mat- 
ters worse  ;  for  all  the  time  Matty  was  never 
quite  clear  of  the  idea  that  she  was  a  hum- 
bug, and  even  in  her  truest  impulse  of  feel- 
ing kept  perpetually  finding  herself  out.  If 
Colin  had  been  able  to  appear  down-stairs, 
her  position  would  have  been  more  and  more 
embarrassing  ;  as  it  was,  she  saw,  a?  clearly 
as  any  one,  that  the  intercourse  which  she 
had  hitherto  kept  up  with  the  tutor  must 
absolutely  come  to  an  end  now,  when  he 
had  a  claim  so  much  stronger  and  more  ur- 
gent on  the  gratitude  of  the  family.  And 
the  more  closely  she  perceived  this,  the  more 
did  Matty  grudge  the  necessity  of  throwing 
aside  the  most  graceful  of  all  her  playthings. 
Things  might  have  gone  on  in  the  old  way 
for  long  enough,  but  for  this  most  unnecessary 
and  perplexing  accident,  which  was  entirely 
Harry's  fault.  Now  she  dared  not  any 
longer  play  with  Colin's  devotion,  and  yet 
was  very  reluctant  to  give  up  the  young 
worshipper,  who  amused  and  interested  and 
affected  her  more  than  any  other  in  her  train. 
With  this  in  her  mind.  Miss  Matty,  as  may 
be  supposed,  was  a  little  fitful  in  her  spirits, 
and  felt  herself,  on  the  whole,  an  injured 
woman.  The  ordinary  homage  of  the  draw- 
ing-room felt  stale  and  unprofitable  after 
Colin's  poetic  worship  ;  and  the  wooing  of 
Harry,  who  felt  he  had  a  right  to  her,  and 
conducted  himself  accordingly,  made  the  con- 
trast all  the  more  distinct.  And  in  her  heart, 
deep  down  beyond  all  impulses  of  vanity, 
there  lay  a  woman's  pity  for  the  sufferer, — a 
woman's  grateful  but  remorseful  admiration 
for  the  man  who  had  given  in  cxcliangc  for 
all  her  false  coin  a  most  unquestionable  heart. 


Matty  did  not  suspect  the  change  in  Colin's 
sentiments  ;  perhaps  she  could  not  liy  any 
effort  of  her  understanding  havc^ealiz.cd  the 
silent  revolution  which  these  few  weeks  had 
worked  in  his  mind.  She  would  have  been 
humbled,  wounded,  perhaps  angry,  had  she 
known  of  his  disenchantment.  But  in  her 
ignorance,  a  certain  yearning  was  in  the  m 
young  lady's  mind.  She  was  not  reconciled 
to  give  him  up  ;  she  wanted  to  see  him  again, 
— even,  so  mingled  were  her  sentiments,  to 
try  her  power  upon  him  again,  though  it 
could  only  be  to  give  him  pain.  Altogether, 
the  business  was  complicated  to  an  incredible 
extent  in  the  mind  of  Matty,  and  she  had  not 
an  idea  of  the  simple  manner  in  which  Colin 
had  cut  the  knot  and  escaped  out  of  all  its 
entanglements.  When  the  accident  was  dis- 
cussed down-stairs,  the  remarks  of  tlic  gen- 
eral company  were  insufferable  to  the  girl 
who  knew  more  about  Colin  than  any  one 
else  did  ;  and  the  sharpness  of  her  criticism 
upon  their  jocular  remarks  confounded  even 
Lady  Frankland,  whose  powers  of  observa- 
tion were  not  rapid.  "  My  dear,  you  seem 
to  be  losing  your  temper,"  said  the  aston- 
ished aunt ;  and  the  idea  gave  Lady  Frank- 
land  a  little  trouble.  "  A  woman  who  loses  ^. 
her  temper  will  never  do  for  Harry,"  she 
said  in  confidence  to  Sir  Thomas.  "  And  poor 
fellow,  he  is  very  ready  to  take  offence  since 
this  unfortunate  accident.  I  am  sure,  I  am 
quite  ready  to  acknowledge  how  much  we 
owe  to  Mr.  Campbell ;  but  it  is  very  odd 
that  nothing  has  ever  happened  to  Harry 
except  in  his  company,"  said  the  aggrieved 
mother.  Sir  Thomas,  for  his  part,  was  more 
reasonable. 

"  A  very  lucky  thing  for  Harry,"  said  the 
baronet.  "  Nobody  else  would  have  gone 
into  that  canal  after  him.  I  can't  conceive 
how  Harry  could  be  such  a  confounded  ass!" 
Sir  Thomas  added,  with  a  mortified  air. 
"  But  as  for  Campbell,  poor  fellow,  anything 
that  I  can  do  for  him—  By  Jove,  i\Iary,  if 
he  were  to  die,  I  should  never  forgive  my- 
self! " 

On  the  whole,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  agita- 
tions occasioned  by  Colin  were  not  confined 
to  his  own  chamber.  xYs  for  Harry,  he  kept 
silence  on  the  subject,  but  did  not  the  less 
feel  the  inferior  position  in  which  his  misfor- 
tune had  lef  thim.  He  was  grateful  so  far, — 
that,  if  he  could  have  persuaded  Colin  to  ac- 
cept any  recompense,  or  done  him  any  over- 


whelming  favor,  he  would  have  gladly  given 
that    evidence   of  thankfulness.     But   after 
the  first  shock  of  horror  with  which  he  heard 
of  the  tutor's  danger,  it  is  certain  that  the 
mortification  of  feeling  that  his  life  had  been 
saved  at  the  risk  of  another  man's  life  pro- 
duced in  young  Frankland   anything  but  a 
friendly   sentiment.     To   accept  so   vast   an 
obligation  requires  an  amount  of  generosity 
of  which  Harry  was  not  capable.     The  two 
young  men  were,  indeed,  placed  in  this  sin- 
gular relationship  to  each  other,  without  the 
existence  of  a  spark   of  sympathy  between 
them.     Not  only  was  the  mind  of  the  saved 
in  a  sore  and  resentful,  rather  than  a  grate- 
ful  and   afl'ectionate,   state ;    but   even   the 
other,  from  whom  more  magnanimity  might 
have  been  expected,  had  absolutely  no  pleas- 
ure in  thinking  that  he  had  saved  the  life  of 
a   fellow-creature.     That   sweet   satisfaction 
and  approval  of  conscience  which  is  said  to 
attend  acts  of  benevolence  did  not  make  itself 
felt  in  the  bosom  of  Colin.     He  was  rather 
irritated  than  pleased  by  the  consciousness  of 
having   preserved   Harry  Frankland  from   a 
watery  grave,  as  the  apothecary  said.     The 
entire  household  was  possessed  by  sensations 
utterly  unlike  those  which  it  ought  to  have 
felt,  when,  on  the  day  succeeding  his  con- 
6ultation  with  Lauderdale,  Colin  for  the  first 
time  came  down-stairs.     There  were  still  some 
people  in  the  house  giving  full  occupation  to 
Lady  Frankland's  hours  of  hospitality,  and 
Matty's  of  entertainment ;  but  both  the  ladies 
heard  in  a  minute  or  two  after  his  appear- 
ance that  Mr.  Campbell  had  been  seen  going 
into  the  library.     "  Perhaps  it  would  be  best 
if  you  were  to  go  and  speak  to  him,  Matty," 
said   Lady  Frankland.     "  There  is  no  occa- 
sion for  being  too  enthusiastic  ;  but  you  may 
say  that  1  am  very  much  occupied,  or  I  would 
have  come  myself  to  welcome  him.     Say  any- 
thing that  is  proper,  my  dear,  and  I  will  try 
and  induce  Harry  to  go  and  shake  hands,  and 
make  his  acknowledgments.     Men  have  such 
a   horror  of  making  a    fuss,"  said  the  per- 
plexed mother.    As  for  Matty,  she  went  upon 
her  errand  with  eagerness  and  a  little  agita- 
tion.    Colin  was  in  the  library,  seated  at  the 
table  beside  Sir  Thomas,  when  she  went  in. 
The  light  was  shining  full  upon  him,  and  it 
did  not  subdue  the  beatings  of  Matty's  con- 
tradictory little  heart  to  see  how  changed  he 
was,  and  out   of  caves   how  deep   the   eyes 
loeked  which  had  taken  new  meanings  unin- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL.  107 

telligible  to  her.     She  had  been,  in  her  secrel 
heart,  a  little  proud  of  understanding  Colin'f 


eyes  ;  and  it  was  humiliating  to  see  the  new 
significations  which  had  been  acquired  during 
his  sickness,  and  to  which  she  had  no  clew. 
Sir  Thomas  was  speaking  when  she  came  in  ; 
so  Matty  said  nothing,  but  came  and  stood 
by  him  for  a  momont,  and  gave  her  hand  to 
Colin.  When  their  eyes  met,  they  were  both 
moved,  though  they  were  not  in  love  with 
each  other  ;  and  then  Matty  drew  a  chair  to 
the  othec  side  of  the  table,  and  looked  re- 
morsefully, pitifully,  tenderly,  on  the  man 
whom  she  supposed  her  lover.  She  was  sur- 
prised that  he  did  not  seek  her  eye,  or  show 
himself  alive  to  all  her  movements,  as  he 
used  to  do  ;  and  at  that  moment,  for  the  first 
time,  it  occurred  to  Matty  to  wonder  whether 
the  absolute  possession  of  Colin's  heart  might 
not  be  worth  a  sacrifice.  She  was  tired  of 
Harry  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  of  most  other 
people  just  then.  And  the  sight  of  this  youth 
— who  was  younger  than  she  was,  who  was 
so  much  more  ignorant  and  less  experienced 
than  she,  and  who  had  not  an  idea  in  his 
head  about  settlements  and  establishments, 
but  entertained  visions  of  an  impossible  life, 
with  incomprehensible  aims  and  meanings  in 
it — had  a  wonderfully  sudden  efiect  upon 
4ier.  For  that  instant  Matty  was  violently 
tempted, — that  is  to  say,  she  took  it  into  her 
consideration  as  actually  a  question  worth 
thinking  of,  whether  it  might  not  be  practi- 
cable to  accept  Colin's  devotion,  and  push 
him  on  in  the  world,  and  make  something  of 
him.  She  entertained  the  idea  all  the  more, 
strangely  enough,  because  she  saw  none  of 
the  old  pleadings  in  Colin's  eyes. 

"  I  hope  you  will  never  doubt  our  grati- 
tude, Campbell,"  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  I  un- 
derstand that  the  doctor  has  said  you  must 
not  remain  in  this  climate.  Of  course  you 
must  spend  the  spring  in  Nice,  or  somewhere. 
It's  charming  scenery  thereabouts.  You'll 
get  better  directly  you  get  into  the  air.  And 
in  summer,  you  know,  there's  no  place  so 
good  as  England, — you  must  come  back  here. 
As  for  expenses,  you  shall  have  a  travelling 
allowance  over  your  salary.  Don't  say  any- 
thing ;  money  can  never  repay  " — 

"  As  long  as  I  was  Charley's  tutor,"  said 
Colin,  "  money  was  natural.  Pardon  me, — 
I  can't  help  the  change  of  circumstances, — 
there  is  no  money  bond  between  us  now, — only 
kindness,"  said  the  young  man,  with  an  effort. 


108 


»'  You  have  all  been  very  good  to  rue  eince  I 
fell  ill.  I  come  to  thank  you,  and  to  say  I 
must  give  up  " — 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Sir  Thomas  ;  "but  you 
can't  imagine  that  I  will  let  you  suffer  for 
your  exertions  on  my  son's  behalf,  and  for  the 
regard  you  have  shown  to  my  family  ?  " 

"I  wish  you  would  understand,"  said 
Colin,  with  vexation.  "  I  have  explained  to 
Lady  Franicland  more  than  once.  It  may 
seem  rude  to  say  so  ;  but  there  was  no  regard 
for  your  family  involved  in  that  act,  at  least. 
I  was  the  only  one  of  the  party  who  saw  that 
your  son  had  gone  down.  I  had  no  wish  to 
go  down  after  him  ;  I  can't  say  I  had  any 
impulse,  even  ;  but  I  had  seen  him,  and  I 
should  have  felt  like  his  murderer  if  I  had 
not  attempted  to  save  him.  1  am  aware  it  is 
an  ungracious  thing  to  say  ;  but  I  cannot 
accept  praise  which  I  don't  deserve,"  said 
Colin,  his  weakness  brir>ging  a  hot,  sudden 
color  over  his  face  ;  and  then  he  stopped 
short,  and  looked  at  Sir  Thomas,  who  was 
perplexed  by  this  interruption,  and  did  not 
quite  know  how  to  shape  his  reply. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  baronet ;  "  I  don't 
exactly  understand  you,  and  I  dare  say  you 
don't  understand  yourself.  Most  people  that 
are  capable  of   doing   a   brave   action   give 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 

to    you   all   about  it."     And  so  the  good- 
hearted  squire  went  away,  thinking   every- 


queer  explanations  of  it.     That's  what  you*  and  you  never  took  to  each  other;    but  you 


mean,  1  suppose.  No  fellow  that's  worth 
anything  pretends  to  fine  motives,  and  so 
forth.  You  did  it  because  you  could  not 
help  it.  But  that  does  not  interfere  with 
my  gratitude.  When  you  are  ready  to  go, 
you  will  find  a  credit  opened  for  you  at  my 
bankers,  and  we  must  see  about  letters  of 
introduction  and  all  that ;  and  I  advise  you, 
if  you're  going  to  Italy,  to  begin  the  lan- 
guage at  once,  if  you  don't  know  it.  Miss 
Matty  used  to  chatter  enough  for  six  when 
we  were  there.  I  dare  say  she'd  like  nothing 
better  than  to  teach  you,"  said  Sir  Thomas. 
He  was  so  much  relieved  by  the  possibility 
of  turning  over  his  difficult  visitor  upon 
Matty  that  he  forgot  the  disadvantages  of 
such  a  proposal.  He  got  up,  delighted  to 
escape  and  to  avoid  any  further  remon- 
strance, and  held  out  his  hand  to  Colin. 
"  Delighted  to  see  you  down-8t%irs  again," 
said  the  bai'onet;  "  and  I  hope  you'll  bring 
your  friend  to  dinner  with  you  to-night. 
Good-by  just  now  ;  I  have,  unfortunately, 
an  engagement " — 

"  Good-by,"   said   Colin.     "  I  will  write 


thing  was  settled.  After  that  it  was  verj 
strange  for  the  two  who  had  been  so  muct 
together  to  find  themselves  again  in  the  same 
room,  and  alone.  As  for  Colin,  he  did  not 
well  know  what  to  say.  Almost  the  lasl 
time  he  had  been  by  ^latty'e  side  withoul 
any  witnesses  was  the  time  when  he  con- 
cluded that  it  was  only  his  life  which  hi 
was  throwing  away  for  her  sake.  Since  thai 
time,  what  a  wonderful  change  had  passed 
over  him  !  The  idea  that  he  had  thought 
her  smile,  the  glance  of  her  eyes,  worth  such 
a  costly  sacrifice,  annoyed  Colin.  But  still 
her  presence  sent  a  little  thrill  through  him 
when  they  were  left  alone  together.  And 
as  for  Miss  Matty,  there  was  some  anxiety 
in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him.  What  did 
he  mean  ?  Was  he  taking  a  desperate  resolu- 
tion to  declare  his  sentiments  ?  or  what  other 
reason  could  there  be  for  his  unusual  silence? 
for  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  attribute  it  to 
its  true  cause. 

"  My  uncle  thinks  you  have  consented  to 
his  plan,"  said  Matty;  "but  I  suppose  I 
know  what  your  face  means  better  than  he 
does.  Why  are  you  so  hard  upon  us,  I 
wondcv?     I  know  well  enough   that  Harry 


used  to  like  the  rest  of  us, — or,  at  least, 
thought  so,"  said  the  little  siren.  She  gave 
one  of  her  pretty  glances  at  him  under  her 
eyelashes,  and  Colin  looked  at  her  across  the 
table  candidly,  without  any  disguise.  Alas  ! 
he  had  seen  her  throw  that  same  glance  at 
various  other  persons,  while  he  stQ()d  in  the 
corner  of  the  drawing-room  observing  every- 
thing ;  and  the  familiar  artillery  this  time 
had  no  effect. 

"  I  have  the  greatest  respect  for  everybody 
at  Wodcnsbourne,"  said  Colin;  "you  did 
me  only  justice  in  thinking  so.  You  have 
all  been  very  good  to  me." 

"  I  did  not  say  anything  about  rcsjiect," 
said  Miss  Matty,  with  pouting  lips.  "  We 
used  to  be  friends,  or,  at  least,  I  thought  so. 
I  never  imagined  we  were  to  break  off  into 
respect  so  suddenly.  I  am  sure  I  wisli  Harry 
had  been  a  hundred  miles  away  when  he 
came  to  disturb  us  all,"  said  the  disarmed 
enchantress.  She  saw  aflliirs  were  in  the 
most  critical  state,  and  her  words  were  so 
far  true  that  slie  could  have  expressed  her 
feelings  best  at  the  moment  by  an  ho^t  fit 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


109 


of  crying.  As  this  was  impracticable,  Miss 
Matty  tried  lees  urgent  measures.  "  We 
have  caused  you  nothing  but  suffering  and 
vexation,"  said  the  young  lady,  dropping  her 
voice  and  fixing  her  eyes  upon  the  pattern 
of  the  table-cover,  which  she  began  to  trace 
with  her  finger.  "  I  do  not  wonder  that 
we  have  become  disagreeable  to  you.  But 
you  should  not  condemn  the  innocent  with 
the  guilty,"  said  Miss  Matty,  looking  sud 
denly  up  into  his  eyes.  A  touch  of  agita- 
tion, the  slightest  possible,  gave  interest  to 
the  face  on  which  Colin  was  looking  ;  and 
perhaps  all  the  time  he  had  known  her  she 
had  never  so  nearly  apjffoached  being  beau- 
tiful, as  certainly,  all  the  time,  she  had 
never  so  narrowly  escaped  being  true.  If 
things  had  been  with  Colin  as  they  once 
were,  the  probability  is  that,  moved  by  her 
emotion,  the  whole  story  of  his  love  would 
have  poured  forth  at  this  emergency ;  and, 
had  it  done  so,  there  is  a  possibility  that 
Matty,  carried  away  by  the  impulse  of  the 
moment,  might  have  awoke  next  morning 
the  affianced  wife  of  the  farmer's  son  of  Ra- 
more.  Providence,  however,  was  kinder  to 
the  pair.  Colin  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table,  and  perceived  that  she  was  putting  her 
little  delicate  probe  into  his  wound.  He  saw 
all  the  asides  and  stage  directions,  and  looked 
at  her  with  a  curious,  vicarious  sense  of 
shame. 

Colin,  indeed,  in  his  new  enlightenment, 
was  hard  upon  Matty.  He  thought  it  was 
all  because  she  could  not  give  up  her  power 
over  the  victim,  whom  she  intended  only  to 
torture,  that  she  had  thus  taken  the  trouble 
to  reopen  tne  ended  intercourse.  He  could 
no  more  have  believed  that  at  this  moment, 
while  he  was  looking  at  her,  such  a  thing 
was  possible  as  that  Matty  might  have  ac- 
cepted his  love,  and  pledged  her  life  to  him, 
than  he  would  have  believed  the  wildest 
nonsense  that  ever  was  written  in  a  fairy 
tale.  So  the  moments  passed,  while  the 
ignorant  mortal  sat  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  table, — which  was  a  very  fortunate  thing 
for  both  parties.  Nevertheless,  it  was  with 
a  certain  sense  of  contempt  for  him,  as,  after 
all,  only  an  ordinary  blind  male  creature, 
unconscious  of  his  opportunities,  mingled 
with  a  thrill  of  excitement,  on  her  own  part, 
natural  to  a  woman  who  has  just  escaped  a 
great  danger,  that  Miss  Matty  listened  to 
what  Colin  had  to  say. 


"  There  is  neither  guilty  nor  innocent  that 
I  know  of,"  said  Colin  ;  "  you  have  all  been 
very  kind  to  me.  It  is  very  good  of  you  to 
take  the  pains  to  understand  me.  I  don't 
mean  to  take  advantage  of  'Sir  Thomas 
Frankland's  kindness  ;  but  I  am  not  such  a 
churl  as  to  fling  it  back  in  his  teeth  as  if  it 
were  pride  alone  that  made  mere  fuse  it.  It 
is  not  pride  alone,"  said  Colin,  growing  red, 
"  but  a  sense  of  justice ;  for  what  I  have 
done  has  been  done  by  accident.  I  will 
write  and  explain  to  Sir  Thomas  what  I 
mean." 

"  Write  and  explain?  "  said  Matty.  "You 
have  twice  said  you  would  write.  Do  you 
mean  that  you  are  going  away?  " 

"As  soon  as  it  is  possible,"  said  Colin; 
and  then  he  perceived  that  he  was  speaking 
with  rude  distinctness.  "  Indeed,  I  have 
been  taking  advantage  of  your  kindness  too 
long.  I  have  been  a  useless  member  of  the 
household  for  six  weeks  at  least.  Yes,  I 
must  go  away." 

"You  speak  very  calmly,"  said  Matty. 
She  was  a  little  flushed,  and  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes.  If  they  had  been  real  tears  she 
would  have  hidden  them  carefully;  but  as 
they  were  only  half  real,  she  had  no  objection 
to  let  Colin  see  that  she  was  concealing 
them.  "You  are  very  composed  about* it, 
Mr.  Campbell.  One  would  think  you  were 
going  away  from  a  place  distasteful  to  you, 
or,  at  least,  which  you  were  totally  indiffer- 
ent about.  I  dare  say  that  is  all  very  right 
and  proper ;  but  I  have  a  good  memory,  and 
it  appears  rather  strange  to  me." 

It  was  altogether  a  trying  situation  for 
Colin.  If  she  had  been  able  to  seduce  him 
into  a  little  recrimination,  she  would  have 
succeeded  in  dragging  the  reluctant  captive 
back  again  into  his  toils;  which,  having  by 
this  time  entirely  recovered  her  senses,  was 
all  Miss  Matty  wanted.  Her  downcast, 
tearful  eyes,  the  faltering  in  her  voice,  were 
wonderfully  powerful  weapons,  which  the 
young  man  was  unable  to  combat  by  means 
of  mere  indifference.  Colin,  however,  being 
a  man  of  impulses,  was  never  to  be  calcu- " 
lated  on  beforehand  for  any  particular  line 
of  conduct ;  and  on  the  present  occasion,  he 
entirely  overleaped  Miss  Matty's  bounds. 

"  Yes,  it  is  strange,"  said  Colin,  "  Per- 
haps nothing  but  the  sight  of  Death,  whohaa 
been  staring  into  my  eyes  for  some  time,  could 
have  shown  me  the  true  state  of  affairs.     1 


110 

have  uttered  a  great  deal  of  nongense  since  I 
came  to  Wodensbourne,  and  you  have  lis- 
tened to  it,  Miss  Frankland,  and  perhaps 
rather  enjoyed  seeing  my  tortures  and  my 
dcliglits.  But  nothing  could  come  of  that ; 
and  when  Death  hangs  on  behind,  everything 
but  love  flics  before  him,"  said  Colin.  "  It 
was  pleasant  sport  while  it  lasted  ;  but  every- 
thing, except  love,  comes  to  an  end." 

"  Except  love,"  said  Miss  Matty.  She  was 
terribly  piqued  and  mortified  on  the  surface, 
and  a  little  humble  and  sorrowful  within. 
She  had  a  sense,  too,  that,  for  one  moment, 
at  the  beginning  of  this  interview,  she  had 
almost  been  capable  of  that  sentiment  which 
Colin  exalted  so  highly  ;  and  that,  conee- 
qnently,  he  did  her  injustice  in  speaking  of 
it  as  something  with  which  she  had  nothing 
to  do.  "I  remember  hearing  you  talk  of 
that  sometimes  in  the  midst  of  what  you  call 
nonsense  now.  If  you  did  not  understand 
yourself,  you  can't  expect  that  I  should  have 
understood  you,"  she  went  on.  To  tell  the 
truth.  Miss  Matty  was  very  near  crying.  She 
had  experienced  the  usual  injustice  of  human 
affairs,  and  been  punished  for  her  vanity  just 
at  that  moment  when  she  was  inclined  to  do 
better  ;  and  her  heart  cried  out  against  such 
cruel  usage.  This  time,  however,  she  kept 
her  tears  quite  in  subjection  and  did  not 
show  them,  but  only  repeated,  "You  could 
not  expect  that  I  should  understand  you,  if 
you  did  not  understand  yourself." 

"No;  that  is  true  at  least,"  said  Colin, 
with  eyes  that  strayed  beyond  her,  and  had 
gone  off  in  other  regions  unknown  to  Matty. 
This  which  had  piqued  her  even  at  the  height 
of  their  alliance  gave  her  an  excuse  for  her 
anger  now. 

"  And  when  you  go  off  into  sentiment,  I 
never  understand  you,"  said  the  young  lady. 
"  I  will  leave  V  incomodo,  as  the  Italians  say. 
That  shall  be  your  first  lesson  in  the  language 
which  my  uncle  says  I  am  to  teach  you," 
said  the  baffled  little  witch  ;  and  she  went 
away  with  a  glance  half-spiteful,  half-wist- 
ful, which  had  more  effect  upon  Colin  than 
a  world  of  words.  He  got  up  to  open  the 
door  for  her,  weak  as  he  was,  and  took  her 
hand  and  kissed  it  as  she  went  away.  Then 
Colin  took  himself  laboriously  up-stairs, 
having  done  his  day's  work.  And  so  unrea- 
sonable was  the  young  man,  that  Matty's  last 
glance  filled  his  heart  with  gentler  tliouglits 
of  the  world  in  general,  though  he  was  not 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


I  in  love  any  longer.  "  I  was  not  such  a  fool 
I  after  all,"  he  said  to  himself ;  which  was  a 
great  consolation.  As  for  Matty,  she  cried 
heartily  when  she  got  to  her  room,  and  felt 
as  if  she  had  lost  something.  Nor  did  she  re- 
cover until  about  luncheon,  when  some  peo- 
ple came  to  call,  and  it  was  her  duty  to  be 
entertaining,  and  relieve  Lady  Frankland. 
"  I  hope  you  said  everything  that  was  proper 
to  Mr.  Campbell,  my  dear,"  said  the  lady  of 
the  house  when  lunch  was  over.  And  so  that 
chapter  came  to  an  end. 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

After  this  inter^ew,  it  was  strange  to 
meet  again  the  little  committee  up-stairs, 
and  resume  the  consideration  of  ways  and 
means,  which  Sir  Thomas  would  have  settled 
so  summarily.  Colin  could  not  help  think- 
ing of  the  difference  with  a  little  amusement. 
He  was  young  enough  to  be  able  to  dismiss 
entirely  the  grave  thoughts  of  the  previouE 
night,  feeling  in  his  "elastic,  youthful  mind, 
as  he  did,  something  of  the  fresh  influence 
of  the  morning,  or  at  least, — for  Colin  had 
found  out  that  the  wind  was  easterly,  a 
thing  totally  indifferent  to  him  in  old  times, 
— of  the  sentiment  of  the  morning,  which, 
so  long  as  heart  and  courage  are  unbroken, 
renews  the  thoughts  and  hopes.  !Money  was 
a  necessary  evil,  to  Colin's  thinking.  So 
long  as  there  happened  to  be  enough  of  it 
for  necessary  purposes,  he  was  capable  of 
laughing  at  the  contrast  between  his  own 
utter  impecuniosity  and  the  wealth  which 
was  only  important  for  its  immediate  uses. 
Though  he  was  Scotch,  and  of  a  careful, 
money-making  race,  this  was  as  yet  the  as- 
pect which  money  bore  to  the  young  man. 
lie  laughed  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  easy- 
chair. 

"  What  Lauderdale  makes  up  by  working 
for  years,  and  what  we  can't  make  up  by 
any  amount  of  working.  Sir  Thomas  does 
with  a  scrape  of  his  pen,"  said  Colin. 
"  Down-stairs  they  need  to  take  little  thought 
about  these  matters,  and  up  here  a  great 
deal  of  thought  serves  to  very  little  purpose. 
On  the  whole,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  would 
be  very  good  for  our  tempers  and  for  our 
minds  in  general  if  we  all  had  plenty  of 
money,"  said  the  young  philosopher,  still 
laughing.  lie  was  tolerably  indifferent  on 
the  subject,  and  able  to  take  it  easily.  While 
he  spoke,  his  eye  lighted  on  his  mother's  face. 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


who  was  not  regarding  the  matter  by  any 
means  so  lightly.  Mrs.  Campbell,  on  the 
contrary,  was  suffering  under  one  of  the  great- 
est minor  trials  of  a  woman.  She  thought  her 
son's  life  depended  on  this  going  to  Italy,  and 
to  procure  the  means  for  it  there  was  nothing 
on  earth  his  mother  would  not  have  done. 
She  would  have  undertaken  joyfully  the 
rudest  and  hardest  labor  that  ever  was  under- 
taken by  man.  She  would  have  put  her 
hands,  which  indeed  were  not  accustomed  to 
work,  to  any  kind  of  toil  ;  but  with  this 
eager  longing  in  her  heart  she  knew  at  the 
same  time  that  it  was  quite  impossible  for  her 
to  do  anything  by  which  she  could  earn  those 
sacred  and  precious  coins  on  which  her  boy's 
life  depended.  While  Colin  spoke,  his  moth- 
er was  making  painful  calculations  what  she 
could  save  and  spare,  at  least,  if  she  could 
not  earn.  Colin  stopped  short  when  he 
looked  at  her  ;  he  could  not  laugh  any  longer. 
What  was  to  him  a  matter  of  amused  specu- 
lation was  to  her  life  or  death. 

"  There  canna  but  be  inequalities  in  this 
world,"  said  the  mistress,  her  tender  brows 
still  puckered  with  their  baffling  calculations. 
"  Tm  no  envious  of  ony  grandeur,  nor  of 
taking  my  ease,  nor  of  the  pleasures  of  this 
life.  We're  awfu'  happy  at  hame  in  our 
sma'  way  when  a's  weel  with  the  bairns  ; 
but  it's  for  their  sakes,  to  get  them  a'  that's 
good  for  them  !  Money's  precious  when  it 
means  health  and  life,"  said  Mrs.  Campbell, 
with  a  sigh  ;  "  and  it's  awfu'  hard  upon  a 
woman  when  she  can  do  nothing  for  her  ain, 
and  them  in  need." 

"  I've  known  it  hard  upon  a  man,"  said 
Lauderdale  ;  "  there's  little  diffei-ence  when 
it  comes  to  that.  But  a  hundi'cd  pounds," 
he  continued,  with  a  delightful  consciousness 
of  power  and  magnificence,  "  is  not  a  bad 
Bum  to  begin  upon  ;  before  that's  done,  there 
will  be  time  to  think  of  more.  It's  none  of 
your  business,  callant,  that  I  can  see.  If 
you'll  no  come  with  me,  you  must  even  stay 
behind.  I'v.e  set  my  heart  on  a  holiday.  A 
man  has  a  little  good  of  his  existence  when 
he  does  nothing  but  earn  and  eat  and  eat  and 
earn  again  as  I've  been  doing.  I  would  like 
to  take  the  play  awhile,  and  feel  that  I'm 
living." 

When  the  mistress  saw  how  Lauderdale 
stretched  his  long  limbs  on  his  chair,  and 
how  Colin's  face  brightened  with  the  look, 
half   sympathetic,  half   provocative,  which  i 


111 

usually  marked  the  beginning  of  a  long 
discussion,  she  went  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room  for  her  work.  It  was  Colin's  linen 
which  his  mother  was  putting  in  order,  and 
she  was  rather  glad  to  withdraw  to  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  and  retire  within  that  ref- 
uge of  needlework,  which  is  a  kind  of  sanc- 
tuary for  a  woman,  and  in  which  she  could 
pursue  undisturbed  her  own  thoughts.  After 
a  while,  though  these  discussions,  were  much 
in  My8.  Campbell's  way,  and  she  was  not 
disinclined  in  general  to  take  part  in  them, 
she  lost  the  thread  of  the  conversation.  The 
voices  came  to  her  in  a  kind  of  murmur,  now 
and  then  chiming  in  with  a  chance  word  or 
two  with  the  current  of  her  own  reflections. 
The  atmosphere  which  surrounded  the  con- 
valescent had  never  felt  so  hopeful  as  to-day, 
and  the  heart  of  the  mother  swelled  with  a 
sense  of  restoration,  a  trust  in  God's  mercy 
which  recently  had  been  dull  and  faint  with- 
in her.  Restoration,  recovery,  deliverance — 
Nature  grows  humble,  tender,  and  sweet  un- 
der these  influences  of  heaven.  The  mis- 
tress's heart  melted  within  her,  repenting  of 
all  the  hard  thoughts  she  had  been  thinking, 
of  all  the  complaints  she  had  uttered.  "  It 
is  good  for  me  that  I  was  afflicted,"  said  the 
Psalmist ;  but  it  was  not  until  his  affliction  was 
past  that  he  could  say  so.  Anguish  and  loss 
make  no  such  confession.  The  heart,  when  it 
is  breaking,  has  enough  ado  to  refrain  from 
accusing  God  of  its  misery,  and  it  is  only  the 
inhumanity  of  human  advisers  that  would 
adjure  it  to  make  spiritual  merchandise  out 
of  the  hopelessness  of  its  pain. 

Matters  were  going  on  thus  in  Colin's 
chamber,  where  he  and  his  friend  sat  talk- 
ing ;  and  the  mother  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  carefully  sewing  on  Colin's  buttons, 
began  to  descend  out  of  her  heaven  of  thank- 
fulness, and  to  be  troubled  with  a  pang  of 
apprehension,  lest  her  husband  should  not  see 
things  in  the  same  light  as  she  did,  but  might, 
perhaps,  demur  to  Colin's  journey  as  an  un- 
warrantable expense.  People  at  Ramore  did 
not  seek  such  desperate  remedies  for  failing 
health.  Whenever  a  cherished  one  was  ill, 
they  were  content  to  get  "  the  best  doctors," 
and  do  everything  fbr  him  that  household 
care  and  pains  could  do  ;  but,  failing  that, 
the  invalid  succumbed  into  the  easy-chair, 
and  when  domestic  cherishing  would  serve 
the  purpose  no  longer,  into  a  submissive 
grave,  without  dreaming  of  those  resources 


112 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


of  the  rich  which  might  still  have  prolonged 
the  fading  life.  Colin  of  Ramore  was  a  kind 
father  ;  but  he  was  only  a  man,  as  the  mis- 
tress recollected,  and  apt  to  come  to  different 
conclusions  from  an  anxious  and  trembling 
mother.  Possibly  he  might  tliink  this  great 
expense  unnecessary,  not  to  be  thought  of, 
an  injustice  to  his  other  children  ;  and  tliis 
thought  disturbed  her  reflections  terribly, 
as  she  sat  behind  their  backs  examining 
Colin's  wardi'obe.  At  all  events,  present 
duty  prompted  her  to  make  everything  sound 
and  comfortable,  that  he  might  be  ready  to 
encounter  the  journey  without  any  difficulty 
on  that  score  ;  and  absorbed  in  these  mingled 
cares  and  labors,  she  was  folding  up  carefully 
the  garments  she  had  done  witii,  and  laying 
them  before  her  in  a'  snowy  heap  upon  the 
table,  when  the  curate  knocked  softly  at  the 
door.  It  was  rather  an  odd  scene  for  the 
young  clergyman,  who  grew  more  and  more 
puzzled  by  his  Scotch  acquaintances  the  more 
he  saw  of  them,  not  knowing  how  to  account 
for  their  quaint  mixture  of  homeliness  and 
intelligence,  nor  whether  to  address  them  po- 
litely as  equals,  or  familiarly  as  inferiors. 
Mrs.  Campbell  came  forward,  when  he  opened 
the  door,  with  her  cordial  smile  and  looks 
as  gracious  as  if  she  had  been  a  duchess. 
'*  Come  away,  sir,"  said  the  farmer's  wife, 
"  we  are  aye  real  glad  to  see  you,"  and  then  ! 
the  mistress  stopped  short ;  for  Henry  Frank-  [ 
land  was  behind  the  curate,  and  somehow,  { 
the  heir  of  Wodcnsbourne  was  not  a  favor- 1 
ite  with  Colin's  mothfcr.  But  her  discon-  j 
tentment  lasted  but  a  moment.  "I  canna  ! 
bid  ye  welcome,  Mr.  Frankland,  to  your  own  , 
house,"  said  the  diplomatical  woman  ;  "  but  j 
if  it  was  mine,  I  would  say  I  was  glad  to  see  1 
you."  That  was  how  she  got  over  the  difB- ; 
culty.  But  she  followed  the  two  young  men  ' 
toward  the  fire,  when  Colin  had  risen  from  i 
his  easy-chair.  She  could  but  judge  accord-  I 
ing  to  her  knowledge,  like  other  people  ;  and 
she  was  a  little  afraid  that  the  man  who  had  ' 
taken  his  love  from  him,  who  had  hazarded 
health  and,  probably,  his  life,  would  find  lit-  ' 
tie  favor  in  Colin's  eyes  ;  and  to  be  anything  ' 
but  courteous  to  a  man  who  came  to  pay  her 
a  visit,  even  had  he  been  her  greatest  en- 1 
emy,  was  repugnant  to  her  barbaric-princely 
Scotch  ideas.  She  followed  accordingly,  to  i 
be  at  hand  and  put  things  straight  if  they  ; 
went  wrong.  i 

"  Frankland  was  too  late  to  see  you  to-day 


when  you  were  down-stairs;  so  he  thought 
he  would  come  up  with  me,"  sitid  the  curate, 
giving  this  graceful  version  of  the  fact  that, 
dragged  by  himself  and  pursued  bj  Lady 
Frankland,  Harry  had  most  reluctantly  as- 
cended the  stair.  "  I  am  very  glad  indeed  to 
hear  that  you  were  down  to-day.  You  are 
looking — ah — better  already,'^  said  the  kind 
young  man.  As  for  Harry  Frankland,  he 
came  forward  and  offered  his  hand,  putting 
down  at  the  same  time  on  the  table  a  pile  of 
books  with  which  he  was  loaded. 

"  My  cousin  told  me  you  wanted  to  learn 
Italian,"  said  Harry;  "so  I  brought  you 
the  books.  It's  a  very  easy  language, 
though  people  talk  great  nonsense  about  its 
being  musical.  It  is  not  a  bit  sweeter  than 
English.  If  you  only  go  to  Nice,  French 
will  answer  quite  well."  Ho  eat  down  sud- 
denly and  uncomfortably  as  he  delivered  him- 
self of  this  utterance  :  and  Colin,  for  his  part, 
took  up  the  grammar,  and  looked  at  it  as  if 
he  had  no  other  interest  under  the  sun. 

"I  don't  agree  with  Frankland  there," 
said  the  curate  ;  "  everything  is  melodious  in 
Italy  except  the  churches.  I  know  you  are 
a  keen  observer,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  be 
struck  with  the  fine  spirit  of  devotion  in  the 
people  ;  but  the  churches  are  the  most  im- 
pious edifices  in  existence,"  said  the  An 
glian,  with  warmth, — which  was  said,  not 
because  the  curate  was  thinking  of  ecclesias- 
tical art  at  the  moment,  but  by  way  of  mak- 
ing conversation,  and  conducting  the  inter- 
view between  the  saved  man  and  his  deliverer 
comfortably  to  an  end. 

"  I  think  you  said  you  had  never  been  in 
Scotland?"  said  Lauderdale.  "But  we'll 
no  enter  into  that  question,  though  I  would 
not  say  myself  but  there  is  a  certain  influence 
in  the  form  of  a  building  independent  of 
what  you  may  hear  there, — which  is  one  ad- 
vantage you  have  over  us  in  this  half  of  the 
kingdom,"  said  the  critic,  with  an  emphasis 
which  was  lost  up  on  the  company.  "  I'm 
curious  to  see  the  workings  of  an  irrational 
system  where  it  has  no  limit.  It's  an  awfu' 
interesting  subject  of  inquiry,  and  there  is' 
little  doubt  in  my  mind  that  a  real  popular 
system  must  aye  be  more  or  less  irrational." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  curate. 
"  Of  course,  there  arc  many  errors  in  the 
Church  of  Rome  ;  but  I  don't  sec  that  such  a_ 
word  as  irrational  " — 

"  It's  a  very  good  word,"  said  Lauderd^ile; 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


"  I'm  not  using  it  in  a  contemptuous  sense. 
Man's  an  irrational  being,  take  him  at  his 
best.  I'm  not  saying  if  it's  above  reason  or 
below  reason,  but  out  of  reason  ;  which 
makes  it  none  the  worse  to  me.  All  reli- 
gion's out  of  reason  for  that  matter, — which 
is  a  thing  we  never  can  be  got  to  allow  in 
Scotland.  You  understand  it  better  in  your 
church,"  said  the  philosopher,  with  a  keen 
glance — half  sarcastic,  half  amused — at  the 
astonished  curate,  who  was  taken  by  sur- 
prise, and  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

During  this  time,  however,  Colin  and 
Harry  were  eying  each  other  over  the  Italian 
books.  "  You  wont  find  it  at  all  difficult, 
said  young  Frankland;  "if  you  had  been 
staying  longer,  we  might  have  helped  you 
I  say — look  here — I  am  much  obliged  to 
you,"  Harry  added,  suddenly:  "a  fellow 
does  not  know  what  to  say  in  such  circum- 
stances. I  am  horribly  vexed  to  think  of 
your  being  ill.  I'd  be  very  glad  to  do  as 
much  for  you  as  you  have  done  for  me." 

"  Which  is  simply  nothing  at  ail,"  said 
Colin,  hastily  ;  and  then  he  became  conscious 
of  the  effort  the  other  had  made.  "  Thank 
you  for  saying  as  much.  I  wish  you  could, 
and  then  noMWy  would  think  any  more  about 
it,"  he  said,  laughing;  and  then  they  re- 
garded each  other  for  another  half-minute 
across  the  table,  while  Lauderdale  and  the 
curate  kept  on  talking  heresy.  Then  Colin 
suddenly  held  out  his  hand. 

"  It  seems  my  fate  to  go  away  without  a 
grudge  against  anybody,"  said  the  young 
man,  "  which  is  hard  enough  when  one  has 
a  certain  right  to  a  grievance.  Good-by. 
I  dare  say  after  this  your  path  and  mine 
will  scarcely  cross  again." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Harry  Frankland,  ris- 
ing up — and,  he  made  a  step  or  two  to  the 
door,  but  came  back  again,  swallowing  a 
lump  in  his  throat.  "  Good-by,"  he  re- 
peated, holding  out  his  hand  another  time. 
"  I  hope  you'll  soon  get  well !  God  bless 
you,  old  fellow  !  I  never  knew  you  till  now," 
— and  so  disappeared  very  suddenly,  closing 
'the  door  after  him  with  a  little  unconscious 
violence.  Colin  lay  back  in  his  chair  with  a 
smile  on  his  face.  The  two  who  were  talk- 
ing beside  him  had  their  ears  intently  open 
to  this  little  by-play  ;  but  they  went  on  with 
their  talk,  and  left  the  principal  actors  in 
this  little  drama  alone. 
','  I  wonder  if  I  am  going  to  die?  "  said 


113 

Colin  softly  to  himself ;  and  then  he  caught 
the  glance  of  terror,  almost  of  anger,  with 
which  his  mother  stopped  short  and  looked 
at  him,  with  her  lips  apart,  as  if  her  breath- 
ing had  stopped  for  the  moment.  "  Mother, 
dear,  I  have  no  such  intention,"  said  the 
young  man;  "only  that  lam  leaving  VVo- 
densbourne  with  feelings  so  amicable  and 
amiable  to  everybody  that  it  looks  alarming. 
Even  Harry  Frankland,  you  see — and  this 
morning  his  cousin" — 

"What  about  his  cousin,  Colin?"  said 
the  mistress,  with  bated  breath. 

Upon  which  Colin  laughed — not  harshly, 
or  in  mockery — softly,  with  a  sound  of  ten- 
derness, as  if  somewhere,  not  far  off,  there  lay 
a  certain  fountain  of  tears. 

"  She  is  very  pretty,  mother,"  he  said, 
"very  sweet  and  kind  and  charming.  I 
dare  say  she  will  be  a  leader  of  fashion,  a  few 
years  hence,  when  she  is  married  ;  and  I 
shall  have  great  pleasure  in  paying  my  re- 
spects to  her  when  I  go  up  from  the  Assembly 
in  black  silk  stockings,  with  a  deputation  to 
present  an  address  to  the  queen." 

Mrs.  Campbell  never  heard  any  more  of 
what  had  been  or  had  not  been  betM'een  her 
son  and  the  little  siren  whom  she  herself,  in* 
the  bitterness  of  her  heart,  had  taken  upon 
herself  to  reprove  ;  and  this  was  how  Colin, 
without,  as  he  said,  a  grudge  against  any- 
body, concluded  the  episode  of  Wodens- 
bourne. 

Some  time,  however,  elapsed  before  it  was 
possible  for  Colin  and  his  companion  to  leave 
England.  Colin  of  Ramore  was,  as  his  wife 
had  imagined,  slow  to  perceive  the  necessity 
for  so  expensive  a  proceeding.  The  father's 
alarm  by  this  time  had  come  to  a  conclusion. 
The  favorable  bulletins  which  the  mistress 
had  sent  from  time  to  time  by  way  of  calm- 
ing the  anxiety  of  the  family,  had  appeared 
to  the  farmer  the  natural  indications  of  a 
complete  recovery  ;  and  so  thought  Archie, 
who  was  his  father's  chief  adviser,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  the  mistress  of  the  house.  "The 
wife's  gone  crazy,"  said  big  Colin.  "She 
thinks  this  laddie  of  hers  should  be  humored 
and  made  of  as  if  he  was  Sir  Thomas  Frank- 
land's  son."  And  the  farmer  treated  with 
a  little  carelessness  his  wife's  assurances  that- 
a  warmer  climate  was  necessary  for  Colin. 

"  Naebody  woold  ever  have  thought  of 
such  a  thing,  had  he  been  at  hame  when  the 
accident  happened,"  said  Archie,  which  was, 


114 

indeed,  very  true  :  and  the  father  and  son, 
who  wci-e  the  money-makers  of  the  family, 
thought  the  idea  altogether  fantastical.  The 
matter  came  to  be  mentioned  to  the  minister, 
who  was,  like  everybody  else  on  the  Holy 
Loch,  interested  about  Colin,  and,  as  it  hap- 
pened, finally  reached  the  ears  of  the  same 
professor  who  had  urged  him  to  compete  for 
the  Baliol  scholarship.  Now,  it  would  be 
hard,  in  this  age  of  competitive  examinations, 
to  say  anything  in  praise  of  a  university 
prize  awarded  by  favor, — not  to  say  that  the 
prizes  in  Scotch  universities  arc  so  few  as  to 
make  such  patronage  specially  invidious. 
Matters  are  differently  managed  nowadays, 
and'  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  pure  merit  always 
wins  the  tiny  rewards  which  Scotch  learning 
has  at  its  disposal  ;  but  in  Colin's  day,  the 
interest  of  a  popular  professor  was  worth 
something.  The  little  conclave  was  again 
gathered  round  the  fire  in  Colin's  room  at 
Wodensbourne,  reading,  with  mingled  feel- 
ings, a  letter  from  Ramore,  when  another 
communication  from  Glasgow  was  put  into 
Colin's  hand.  The  farmer's  letter  had  been 
a  little  impatient,  and  showed  a  household 
disarranged  and  out  of  temper.  One  of  the 
cows  was  ill,  and  the  maid-servant  of  the 
period  had  not  proved  herself  equal  to  the 
emergency.  "I  don't  want  to  hurry  you, 
or  to  make  Colin  move  before  he  is  able," 
wrote  the  head  of  the  house ;  "  but  it  ap- 
pears to  me  that  he  would  be  far  more  likely 
to  recover  his  health  and  strength  at  home." 
The  mistress  had  turned  aside,  apparently  to 
look  out  at  the  window,  from  which  was 
visible  a  white  blast  of  rain  sweeping  over 
the  dreary  plain  which  surrounded  Wodens- 
bourne, though  in  reality  it  was  to  hide  the 
gush  of  tears  that  had  come  to  her  eyes.  Big 
Colin  and  his  wife  were  what  people  call  "  a 
very  united  couple,"  and  had  kept  the  love 
of  their  youth  wonderfully  fresh  in  their 
hearts  ;  but  still  there  were  times  when  the 
man  was  impatient  and  dull  of  understanding, 
and  could  not  comprehend  the  woman,  just 
as,  perhaps,  though  ^Irs.  Campbell  was  not 
so  clearly  aware  of  that  side  of  the  question, 
there  might  be  times  when,  on  her  side,  the 
woman  was  equally  a  hinderancc  to  the  man. 
She  looked  out  upon  the  sweej^ing  rain,  and 
tliouglit  of  the  "  soft  weather  "  op  the  Holy 
Loch,  which  had  so  depressing  an  effect  upon 
herself,  notwithstanding  her  sound  health 
and  many  duties,  and  of  the  winds  of  March 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


I  which  were  approaching,  and  of  Colin's  life, 
j — the  most  precious  thing  on  earth,  because 
the  most  in  peril.  What  was  she  to  do, — a 
I  poor  woman  who  had  nothing,  who  could 
j  earn  notliing,  who  had  only  useless  yearnings 
and  cares  of  love  to  give  her  son  ? 

While  Mrs.  Campbell  was  thus  contem- 
plating her  impotence,  and  wringing  her 
hands  in  secret  over  the  adverse  decision  from 
home,  Lauderdale  Avas  walking  about  the 
room  in  a  state  of  high  good-humor  and  con- 
tent, radiant  with  the  consciousness  of  that 
hundred  pounds,  "  or  maybe  mair,"  with 
which  it  was  to  be  his  unshared,  exclusive 
privilege  to  succor  Colin.  "  I  see  no  reason 
why  we  should  wait  longer.  The  mistress  is 
wanted  at  home,  and  the  east  winds  are  com- 
ing on  ;  and,  when  our  siller  is  spent,  we'll 
make  more,"  said  the  exultant  philosopher. 
And  it  was  at  this  moment  of  all  others  that 
the  professor's  letter  was  put  into  the  inva- 
lid's hands.  He  read  it  in  silence,  while  the 
mistress  remained  at  the  window,  concocting 
in  her  mind  another  appeal  to  her  husband, 
and  wondering  in  her  tender  heart  how  it 
was  that  men  were  so  dull  of  comprehension 
and  BO  hard  to  manage.  "  If  Colin  should 
turn  ill  again," — for  she  daredjltot  even  think 
the  word  she  meant, — "  his^ither  would 
never  forgive  himsel',"  said  the  mistress  to 
herself;  and,  as  for  Lauderdale,  he  had  re- 
turned to  the  contemplation  of  a  Continental 
Bradshaw,  which  was  all  the  literature  of 
which,  at  this  crisis,  Colin's  friend  was  capa- 
ble. They  were  both  surprised  when  Colin 
rose  up,  flushed  and  excited,  with  this  letter, 
which  nobody  had  attached  any  importance 
to,  in  his  hands.  "  They  have  given  me  one 
of  the  Snell  scholarships,"  said  Colin  with- 
out any  preface,  "  to  travel  and  complete  my 
studies.  It  is  a  hundred  pounds  a  year  ; 
and  I  think,  as  Lauderdale  says,  we  can  start 
to-morrow,"  said  the  young  man,  who  in  his 
weakness  and  excitement  was  moved  almost 
to  tears. 

"Eh,  Colin,  the  Lord  bless  them  !  "  said 
the  mistress,  sitting  down  suddenly  in  the 
nearest  chair.  She  did  not  know  who  it  was- 
upon  whom  she  was  bestowing  that  bene- 
diction, which  came  from  the  depths  of  her 
heart ;  but  she  had  to  sit  still  after  she  had 
uttered  it,  blinded  by  two  great  tears  tliat 
made  even  her  son's  face  invisible,  and  with 
a  trembling  in  her  frame  which  rendered  her 
incapable  of  any  movement.     She  was  incon- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


Bistent,  like  other  human  creatures.  When 
she  had  attained  to  this  sudden  deliverance, 
and  had  thanked  God  for  it,  it  instantly 
darted  through  her  mind  that  her  boy  was 
going  to  leave  her  on  a  solemn  and  doubtful 
journey,  novr  to  be  delayed  no  longer  ;  and 
it  was  some  time  before  she  was  able  to  get 
up  and  arrange  for  the  last  time  the  carefully- 
mended  linen,  which  was  all  ready  for  him 
now.  She  packed  it,  shedding  a  few  tears 
over  it,  and  saying  prayers  in  her  tender 
heart  for  her  first-born  ;  and  God  only  knows 
the  difficulty  with  which  she  preserved  her 
smile  and  cheerful  looks,  and  the  sinking  of 
her  heart  when  all  her  arrangements  were 
completed.  Would  he  ever  come  back  again 
to  make  her  glad  ?  "  You'll  take  awfu'  care 
of  my  laddie?  "  she  said  to  Lauderdale,  who, 
for  his  part,  was  not  delighted  with  theSnell 
scholarship  ;  and  that  misanthrope  answered, 
"  Ay,  I'll  take  care  of  him."  That  was  all 
that  passed  between  the  two  guardians,  who 
knew,  in  their  inmost  hearts,  that  the  object 
of  their  care  might  never  come  back  again. 


115 

All  the  household  of  Wodensbourne  turned 
out  to  wish  Colin  a  good  journey  next  morn- 
ing when  he  went  away  ;  and  the  mistress 
put  down  the  old-fashioned  veil  when  the 
express  was  gone  which  carried  him  to  Lon 
don,  and  went  home  again  humbly  by  the 
night-train.  Fortunately  there  was  in  the 
same  carriage  with  her  a  harassed  young 
mother  with  little  children,  whose  necessities 
speedily  demanded  the  lifting-up  of  Mrs. 
Campbell's  veil.  And  the  day  was  clear  on 
the  Holy  Loch,  and  all  her  native  hills  held 
out  their  arms  to  her,  when  the  good  woman 
reached  her  home.  Sne  was  able  to  see  the 
sick  cows  that  afternoon,  and  her  experience 
suggested  a  means  of  relieving  the  speechless 
creatures,  which  filled  the  house  with  admira- 
tion. "  She  may  be  a  foolish  woman  about 
her  bairns,"  said  big  Colin,  who  was  half 
pleased  and  half  angry  to  hear  her  story  ; 
but  it's  a  difierent-looking  house  when  the 
wife  comes  hame."  And  thus  the  natural 
sunshine  came  back  again  to  the  mistress's 
eyes. 


# 


116 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


PART    IX. — CHAPTER    XXVI. 

Colin  and  his  guardian  went  on  their  way 
in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  in  which  the 
mistress  travelled  sadly  alone.  They  made 
all  the  haste  possible  out  of  the  cold  and 
boisterous  weather,  to  get  to  eea  ;  which  was 
at  once,  according  to  all  their  hopes,  to  bring 
health  to  the  invalid.  Lauderdale,  who  car- 
ried his  little  fortune  about  him,  had  been  at 
great  pains  in  dispersing  it  over  his  person  ; 
so  that,  in  case  of  falling  among  thieves, — 
which,  to  a  man  venturing  into  foreign  parts, 
seemed  but  too  probable, — he  might,  at  least, 
have  a  chance  of  saving  some  portion  of  his 
store.  But  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  dire 
and  dreadful  malady  which  seized  him  un- 
awares, and  made  him  equally  incapable  of 
taking  care  of  his  money  and  of  taking  care 
of  Colin.  He  could  not  even  make  out  how 
many  days  he  had  lain  helpless  and  useless  in 
what  was  called  the  second  cabin  of  the 
steamer, — where  the  arrangements  and  the 
provisions  were  less  luxurious  than  in  the 
more  expensive  quarters.  But  Lauderdale 
was  unconscious  altogether  of  any  possibility 
of  comfort.  He  gave  it  up  as  a  thing  im- 
possible. He  fell  into  a  state  of  utter  scep- 
ticism as  he  lay  in  agonies  of  sea-sickness  on 
the  shelf  which  represented  a  bed.  "  Say 
nothing  to  me  about  getting  there,"  he  said, 
with  as  much  indignation  as  he  was  capable 
of.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  there,  callant. 
As  for  land,  I  am  far  from  sure  that  there's 
such  a  thing  existing.  If  there  is,  we'll 
never  get  to  it.  It's  an  awful  thing  for  a 
man  in  his  senses  to  deliver  himself  up  to  this 
idiot  of  a  sea,  to  be  played  with  like  a  bairn's 
ball.  It's  very  easy  to  laugh, — if  you  had 
been  standing  on  your  head,  like  me  for 
twenty  days  in  succession" — 

"  Only  four  days,"  said  Colin,  laughing, 
"  and  the  gale  is  over.  You'll  be  better  to- 
morrow." 

"  To-morrow  !  "  said  Lauderdale,  with  a 
contemptuous  groan  ;  "I've  no  faith  in  to- 
morrow. I'm  no  equal  to  reckoning  time 
according  to  ordinary  methods,  and  I'm  no 
conscious  of  ever  having  existed  in  a  more 
agreeable  position.  As  for  the  chances  of 
ever  coming  head  uppermost  again,  I  would 
Dot  give  sixpence  for  them.  It's  all  very 
well  for  the  like  of  you.  Let  me  alone,  cal- 
lant ;  if  this  infernal  machine  of  a  ship  would 
but  go  down  without  more  ado,  and  leave  a 
man  in  peace, — that's  the  pleasantest  thing  I 


can  think  of.  Don't  speak  to  me  about 
Italy.  It's  all  a  snare  and  delusion  to  get 
honest  folk  oif  firm  ground.  Let  me  get  to 
the  bottom  in  peace  and  quiet.  Life's  no 
worth  having  at  such  a  price,"  sighed  the 
sufferer  ;  to  whom  his  undutiful  charge  an- 
swered only  by  laughter  and  jibes,  which, 
under  the  circumstances,  were  hard  to  bear. 

"You  are  better  now,"  said  the  heartless 
youth,  "  or  you  could  not  go  into  the  philos- 
ophy of  the  subject.  To-morrow  morning 
you'll  eat  a  good  breakfast,  and" — 

"  Dinna  insult  my  understanding,"  said 
Colin's  victim.  "  Go  away,  and  look  out  for 
your  Italy  or  whatever  you  call  it.  A  callant 
like  you  believes  in  everything.  Go  away 
and  enjoy  yourself.  If  you  don't  go  peacea- 
bly, I'll  put  you  out,"  cried  the  miserable 
man,  lifting  himself  up  from  his  pillow,  and 
seizing  a  book  which  Colin  had  laid  there,  to 
throw  at  his  tormentor.  A  sudden  lurch, 
however,  made  an  end  of  the  discomfited 
philosopher.  He  fell  back,  groaning,  as  Co- 
lin escaped  out  of  the  little  cabin.  "  It's 
quite  intolerable,  and  I'll  no  put  up  with  it 
any  longer,"  said  Lauderdale,  to  himself. 
And  he  recalled,  with  a  sense  of  injury,  Co- 
lin's freedom  from  the  overpowering  malady 
under  which  he  was  himself  suffering.  "  It's 
me  that's  ill,  and  no  him,"  he  thought,  with 
surprise,  and  the  thought  prevailed  even  over 
j  sea-sickness.  By  and  by  it  warmed  with  a 
delicious  glow  of  hope  and  consolation  the 
heart  of  the  sufferer.  "  If  it  sets  the  callant 
right,  I'm  no  heeding  for  myself,"  he  said  in 
his  own  mind,  with  renewed  heroism.  Per- 
hapsi  it  was  because,  as  Colin  said,  Lauder- 
dale was  already  beginning  to  be  better  that 
he  was  capable  of  such  generosity.  Certainly 
the  ship  lurched  less  and  less  as  the  evening 
went  on,  and  the  moonlight  stole  in  at  the 
port-hole  and  caressed  the  sufferer,  widening 
his  horizon  a  little  before  he  was  aware.  He 
had  begun  to  wonder  whether  Colin  had  his 
great-coat  on,  before  long,  and  fell  asleep  in 
that  thought,  and  worked  out  his  remaining 
spell  of  misery  in  gigantic  efforts — continued 
all  through,  the  night — to  get  into  Colin's 
coat,  or  to  get  Colin  into  his  coat,  he  was  not 
quite  sure  which.  Meanwhile,  the  object  of 
Lauderdale's  cares  was  on  deck,  enjoying  the 
moonlight,  and  the  sense  of  improving  health, 
and  all  the  excitement  and  novelty  of  his  new 
life. 

They  had  been  four  days  at  sea,  and  Colin, 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL, 


117 


who  had  not  been  ill,  had  become  acquainted 
•with  the  aspect  of  all  his  fellow-passengers, 
■who  were  as  good  sailors  as  himself.  They 
were  going  to  Leghorn ,  as  the  easiest  way  of 
reaching  Italy  ;  and  there  were  several  inva- 
lids on  board,  though  none  whose  means  made 
necessary  a  passage  in  the  second  cabin,  of 
which  Colin  himself  and  Lauderdale  were  the 
sole  occupants.  Of  the  few  groups  on  the 
quarter-deck  who  were  able  to  face  the  gale, 
Colin  had  already  distinguished  one,  a  young 
man,  a  little  older  than  himself,  exceedingly 
pale  and  worn  with  illness,  accompanied  by 
a  girl  a  year  or  two  younger.  The  two  were 
BO  like  each  other  as  to  leave  no  doubt  that 
they  must  be  brother  and  sister,  and  so  unlike 
as  to  call  forth  the  compassionate  observation 
of  everybody  who  looked  at  them.  The  young 
lady's  blooming  face,  delicately  round  and 
full,  with  the  perfect  outline  of  health  and 
youth,  had  been  paled  at  first  by  the  struggle 
between  incipient  seasickness  and  the  deter- 
mination not'  to  leave  her  brother ;  but  by 
this  time — at  the  cost  of  whatever  private 
agonies — she  had  apparently  surmounted  the 
common  weakness,  and  was  throwing  into 
fuller  and  fuller  certainty,  without  knowing 
it,  by  the  contrast  of  her  own  bloom,  the  sen- 
tence of  death  written  on  his  face.  When 
they  were  on  deck,  which  was  the  only  time 
that  they  were  visible  to  Colin ,  she  never  left 
him, — holding  fast  by  his  arm  with  an  anxious 
tenacity  ;  not  receiving,  but  giving  support, 
and  watching  him  with  incessant,  breathless 
anxiety,  as  if  afraid  that  he  might  suddenly 
drop  away  from  her  side.  Th&  brother,  on 
his  side,  had  those  hollow  eyes,  set  in  wide, 
pathetic  niches,  which  are  never  to  be  mis- 
taken by  those  who  have  once  watched  be- 
loved eyes  widening  out  into  that  terrible 
breadth  and  calm.  He  was  as  pale  as  if  the 
warm  blood  of  life  had  already  been  wrung 
out  of  him  drop  by  drop  ;  but,  notwithstand- 
ing this  aspect  of  death,  he  was  still  possessed 
by  a  kind  of  feverish  activity,  the  remains  of 
strength,  and  seemed  less  disturbed  by  the 
gale  than  any  other  passenger.  He  was  on 
deck  at  all  hours,  holding  conversations  with 
such  of  the  sailors  as  he  could  get  at, — talking 
to  the  captain,  who  seemed  to  eschew  his  so- 
ciety, and  to  such  of  his  fellow-travellers  as 
were  visible.  "What  the  subject  of  his  talk 
might  be,  Colin  from  his  point  of  observation 
could  not  tell ;  but  there  was  no  mistaking 
the  evidences  of  natural  eloquence  and  the 


eagerness  of  the  speaker.  "  He  ought  to  be 
a  preacher,  by  his  looks,"  Colin  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  stood  within  the  limits  to  which,  as 
a  second-class  traveller,  he  was  confined,  and 
saw^t  a  little  distance  from  him,  the  worn 
figure  of  the  sick  man,*  upon  whose  face  the 
moonlight  was  shining.  As  usual,  the  sister 
was  clinging  to  his  arm,  and  listening  to  him 
with  a  rapt  countenance  ;  not  so  much  con- 
cerned about  what  he  said  as  absorbed  in  anx- 
ious investigation  of  his  looks.  It  was  one  of 
the  sailors  this  time  who  formed  the  audience  to 
whom  theSnvalid  was  addressing  himself, — a 
man  whom  he  had  stopped  in  the  midst  of  some- 
thing he  was  doing,  and  who  was  listening  with 
great  evident  embarrassment,  anxious  to  es- 
cape, but  more  anxious  still,  like  a  good-heart- 
ed fellow  as  he  was,  not  to  disturb  or  irritate 
the  suffering  man.  Colin  drew  a  step  neacer, 
feeling  that  the  matter  under  discussion  could 
be  n8  private  one,  and  the  sound  of  the  little 
advance  he  made  caught  the  invalid's  nervous 
ear.  He  turned  round  upon  Colin  before  he 
could  go  back,  and  suddenly  fixed  him  with 
those  wonderful  dying  eyes.  "  I  will  see  you 
again  another  time,  my  friend,"  he  said  to 
the  released  seaman,  who  hastened  off  with 
an  evident  sense  of  having  escaped.  When 
the  stranger  turned  round,  he  had  to  move 
back  his  companion,  so  that  in  the  change  of 
position  she  came  to  be  exactly  in  front  of 
Colin,  so  near  that  the  two  could  not  help 
seeing,  could  not  help  observing  each  other. 
The  girl  withdrew  her  eyes  a  minute  from 
her  brother  to  look  at  the  new  form  thus  pre- 
sented to  her.  She  did  not  look  at  Colin  as  a 
young  woman  usually  looks  at  a  young  man. 
She  was  neither  indifferent,  nor  did  she  at- 
tempt to  seem  so.  She  looked  at  him  eagerly, 
with  a  question  in  her  eyes.  The  question 
was  a  strange  one  to  be  addressed,  even  from 
the  eyes,  by  one  stranger  to  another.  It  said 
as  plain  as  words,  "  Are  you  a  man  to  whom 
I  can  appeal — are  you  a  man  who  will  under- 
stand him  ?  Shall  I  be  able  to  trust  you,  and 
ask  your  help  ?  ' '  That  and  nothing  else  "was 
in  the  wistful,  anxious  look.  If  Colin's  face 
had  not  been  one  which  said  "Yes"  to  all 
such  questions,  she  would  have  turned  away, 
and  thought  of  him  no  more  ;  as  it  was,  she 
looked  a  second  time  with  a  touch  of  interest, 
a  gleam  of  hope.  The  brother  took  no  more 
apparent  notice  of  her  than  if  she  had  been  a 
cloak  on  his  arm,  except  that  from  time  to 
time  he  put  out  his  thin,  white  hand  to  make 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


118 


sure  that  her  hand  was  still  there.  He  fixed 
his  eyes  on  Colin  with  a  kind  of  solemn  stead- 
fastness, which  had  a  wonderful  efTcot  upon 
the  young  man,  and  said  something  hasty 
and  brief,  a  most  summary  preface,  aboift  the 
beautiful  night.  "  Are  you  ill  ?  "  he  added, 
in  the  same  hasty,  breathless  way,  as  if  im- 
patient of  wasting  time  on  such  preliminaries. 
"  Are  you  going  abroad  for  your  health  ?  " 

Colin,  who  was  surpi-ised  by  the  question, 
felt  nearly  disinclined  to  answer  it ;  for  in 
spite  of  himself  it  vexed  him  to  think  that 
anybody  could  read  that  necessity  lb  his  face. 
He  said,  "  1  think  so,"  with  a  smile  which 
was  not  quite  spontaneous  ;  "  my  friends  at 
least  have  that  meaning,"  he  added  more  nat- 
urally a  moment  afterward,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  returning  the  question  ;  but  that  pos- 
sibility was  taken  rapidly  out  of  his  hands. 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  of  death  ?  "  said 
the  stranger.  "  Don't  start ;  I  am  dying,  or 
I  would  not  ask  you.  When  a  man  is  dying, 
he  has  privileges.  Do  you  know  that  you 
are  standing  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice  ! 
Have  you  ever  thought  of  death  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  great  deal,"  said  Colin.  It  would 
be  wrong  to  say  that  the  question  did  not 
startle  him  ;  but,  after  the  first  strange  shock 
of  such  an  address,  an  impulse  of  response 
and  sympathy  filled  his  mind.  It  might  have 
been  difficult  to  get  into  acquaintance  by 
means  of  the  chit-chat  of  society,  which  re- 
quires a  certain  initiation  ;  but  such  a  grand 
subject  was  common  ground.  He  answered 
as  very  few  of  the  people  interrogated  by  the 
sick  man  did  answer.  He  did  not  show  either 
alarm  or  horror ;  he  started  slightly,  it  is 
true,  but  he  answered  without  much  hesita- 
tion,— 

"  Yes,  I  have  thought  often  of  death," 
said  Colin.  Though  he  was  only  a  second- 
class  passenger,  this  was  a  question  which 
put  all  on  an  equality  ;  and  now  it  was  not 
difficult  to  understand  why  the  captain  es- 
chewed his  troublesome  question,  and  how  the 
people  looked  embarrassed  to  whom  he  spoke. 

"  Ah,  I  am  glad  to  hear  such  an  answer," 
said  the  stranger  ;  "  so  few  people  can  say 
so.  You  have  found  out,  then,  the  true  aim 
of  life.  Let  us  walk  about,  for  it  is  cold, 
and  I  must  not  shorten  my  working-days  by 
any  devices  of  my  own.  My  friend,  you  give 
me  a  little  hope  that,  at  last,  I  have  found  a 
brother  in  Christ." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Colin,  gravely.     He  was 


still  more  startled  by  the  strain  in  which  his 
new  companion  proceeded  than  by  his  first 
address ;  but  a  dying  man  had  privileges. 
"  I  hope  so,"  Colin  repeated  ;  "  one  of  many 
here." 

"Ah,  no,  not  of  many,"  said  the  invalid  ; 
"  if  you  can  feel  certain  of  being  a  child  of 
God,  it  is  what  but  few  are  permitted  to  do. 
My  dear  friend,  it  ia  not  a  subject  to  deceive 
ourselves  upon.  It  is  terribly  important  for 
you  and  me.  Are  you  sure  that  you  are  flee- 
ing from  the  wrath  to  come  ?  Are  you  sure 
that  you  are  prepared  to  meet  your  God?  " 

They  had  turned  into  the  full  moonlight, 
which  streamed  upon  their  faces.  The  ship 
was  rushing  along  through  a  sea  still  agitated 
by  the  heavings  of  the  past  storm,  and  there 
was  nothing  moving  on  deck  except  some 
scattered  seamen  busy  in  their  mysterious 
occupations.  Colin  was  slow  to  answer  the 
new  question  thus  addressed  to  him.  He 
was  still  very  young  ;  delicate,  and  reticent 
about  all  the  secrets  of  his  soul ;  not  wearing 
his  heart  upon  his  sleeve  even  in  particulars 
less  intimate  and  momentous  than  this.  "  I 
am  not  afraid  of  my  God,"  he  said,  after  a 
minute's  pause  ;  "  pardon  me,  I  am  not  used 
to  speak  much  on  such  subjects.  I  cannot 
imagine  that  to  meet  God  will  be  less  than 
the  greatest  joy  of  which  the  soul  is  capable. 
He  is  the  great  Father.     I  am  not  afraid." 

"  Oh,  my  friend  !  "  said  the  eager  stranger, 
— his  voice  sounded  in  Colin's  ear  like  the 
voice  of  a  desperate  man  in  a  life-boat,  call- 
ing to  somebody  who  w^as  drowning  in  a 
storm, — "  don't  deceive  yourself;  don't  take 
up  a  sentimental  view  of  such  an  important 
matter.  There  is  no  escape  except  through 
one  way.  The  great  object  of  our  lives  is  to 
know  how  to  die, — and  to  die  is  despair, 
without  Christ." 

"  What  is  it  to  live  without  him?"  said 
Colin.  "  I  think  the  great  object  of  our  lives 
is  to  live.  Sometimes  it  is  very  hard  work. 
And,  when  one  sees  what  is  going  on  in  the 
world,  one  does  not  know  how  it  is  possible 
to  keep  living  without  him,"  said  the  young 
man,  whose  mind  had  taken  a  profound  im- 
pression from  the  events  of  the  last  three 
months.  "  I  don't  see  any  meaning  in  the 
world  otherwise.  So  for  we  are  agreed. 
Death,  which  interests  you  so  much,  will  clear 
up  all  the  rest." 

"Which  interests  me?"  said  his  new 
friend;  "  if  we   were  indeed  rational  crea- 


A     SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


tures,  would  it  not  interest  every  one  ?  Be- 
yond every  other  subject,  beyond  every  kind  of 
ambition  and  occupation.  Tliink  what  it  is 
to  go  out  of  this  life,  with  which  we  are  fa- 
miliar, to  stand  alone  before  God,  to  answer 
for  the  deeds  done  in  the  body." 

"Then,  if  you  are  so  afraid  of  God," 
said  Colin,  "  what  account  do  you  make  of 
Christ?" 

A  gleam  of  strange  light  went  over  the 
gaunt  eager  face.  He  put  out  his  hand  with 
his  habitual  movement,  and  put  it  upon  his 
sister's  hand,  which  was  clinging  to  his  arm. 
"  Alice,  hush!  "  said  the  sick  man!  don't 
interrupt  me.  He  speaks  as  if  he  knew  what 
I  mean  ;  he  speaks  as  if  he,  too,  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  it.  I  may  be  able  to  do 
him  good,  or  he  me.  I  have  not  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  your  name,"'  he  said,  suddenly 
turning  again  to  Colin  with  the  strangest 
difference  of  manner.  "  Mine  is  Meredith. 
My  sister  and  I  will  be  ^lad  if  you  will  come 
to  our  cabin.  I  should  like  to  have  a  little 
conversation  with  you.     Will  you  come?" 

Colin  would  have  said  no  ;  but  the  word 
was  stayed  on  his  lips  by  a  sudden  look  from 
the  girl  who  had  been  drawn  on  along  with 
with  them,  without  any  apparent  will  of  her 
own.  It  was  only  in  her  eyes  that  any  indi- 
cation of  individual  exertion  on  her  part  was 
visible.  She  did  not  speak,  nor  appear  to 
think  it  necessary  that  she  should  second  her 
brother 's  invitation  ;  but  she  gave  Colin  a 
hasty  look,  conveying  such  an  appeal  as  went 
to  his  heart.  He  did  not  understand  it ;  if 
he  had  been  asked  to  save  a  man's  life,  the 
petition  could  not  have  been  addressed  to  him 
more  imploringly.  His  own  inclination  gave 
way  instantly  before  the  eager  supplication 
of  those  eyes  ;  not  that  he  was  charmed  or 
attracted  by  her,  for  she  was  too  much  ab- 
sorbed, and  her  existence  too  much  wrapt  up 
in  that  of  her  brother,  to  exercise  any  per- 
sonal influence.  A  woman  so  pre-occupied 
had  given  up  her  privileges  of  woman.  Ac- 
cordingly there  was  no  embarrassment  in  the 
direct  appeal  she  made. '  The  vainest  man 
in  existence  would  not  have  imagined  that 
she  cared  for  his  visit  on  her  own  account. 
Yet  it  was  at  her  instance  that  Colin  changed 
his  original  intention,  and  followed  them 
down  below  to  the  cabin.  His  mind  was  suf- 
ficiently free  to  leave  him  at  liberty  to  be  in- 
terested in  others,  and  his  curiosity  was  al- 
ready roused. 


119 


The  pair  did  not  look  less  interesting  when 
Colin  sat  with  them  at  the  table  below,  in 
the  little  cabin,  which  did  not  seem  big 
eaough  to  hold  anything  else  except  the 
lamp.  There,  however,  the  sister  exerted 
herself  to  make  tea,  for  which  she  had  all  the 
materials.  She  boiled  her  little  kettle  over 
a  spirit-lamp  in  a  corner  apart,  and  set  every- 
thing before  them  with  a  silent  rapidity  very 
wonderful  to  Colin,  who  perceived  at  the 
same  time  that  the  sick  man  was  impatient 
even  of  those  soft  and  noiseless  movements. 
He  called  to  her  to  sit  down  two  or  three  times 
before  she  was  ready,  and  visibly  fumed  over 
the  slight  commotion,  gentle  as  it  was.  He 
had  seated  himself  in  a  corner  of  the  hlird 
little  sofa  which  occupied  one  side  of  the 
cabin,  and  where  there  already  lay  a  pile  of 
cushions  for  his  comfort.  His  thoughts  were 
fixed  on  eternity,  as  he  said  and  believed  ; 
but  his  body  was  profoundly  sensitive  to  all 
the  little  annoyances  of  time.  The  light  ti-ead 
of  his  sister's  foot  on  the  floor  seemed  to  send 
a  cruel  vibration  through  him,  and  he  glanced 
round  at  hsr  with  a  momentary  glance  of  an- 
ger, which  called  forth  an  answering  senti- 
ment in  the  mind  of  Colin,  who  was  looking 
on. 

"  Forgive  me,  Arthur,"  said  the  girl,  "  I 
am  so  clumsy  ;  I  can't  help  it," — an  apology 
which  Arthur  answered  with  a  melancholy 
frown, 

"  It  is  not  you  who  are  clumsy  ;  it  is  the 
Evil  One  who  tempts  me  perpetually,  even 
by  your  means,"  he  said.  "Tell  nii  what 
your  experience  is,"  he  continued,  turning  to 
Colin  with  more  eagerness  than  ever;  "I 
find  some  people  who  are  embarrassed  when 
I  speak  to  them  about  the  state  of  their  souls ; 
some  who  assent  to  everything  I  say,  by  way 
of  getting  done  with  it ;  some  who  are  shocked 
and  frightened,  as  if  speaking  of  death  would 
make  them  die  the  sooner.  You  alone  have 
spoken  to  me  like  a  man  who  knows  some- 
thing about  the  matter.  Tell  me  how  you 
have  grown  familiar  with  the  subject ;  tell 
me  what  your  experiences  are. 

Perhaps  no  request  that  could  possibly  have 
been  made  to  him  would  have  embarrassed 
him  so  much.  He  was  interested  and  touched 
by  the  strange  pair  in  whose  company  he 
found  himself,  and  could  not  but  regard  with 
a  pity,  which  had  §ome  fellow-feeling  in  it, 
the  conscious  state  of  life-in-death  in  which 
his  questioner  stood,  who  was  not,  at  the 


120 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


same  time,  much  older  than  himself,  and  still 
in  what  ought  to  be  the  flower  of  his  youth. 
Though  his  own  thoughts  were  of  a  very  dif- 
ferent completion,  Colin  could  not  but  be 
impressed  by  the  aspect  of  the  other  youth, 
who  was  occupying  the  solemn  position  from 
which  he  himself  seemed  to  have  escaped. 

"  Neither  of  us  can  have  much  experience 
one  way  or  another,"  he  said,  feeling  some- 
how his  own  limitations  in  the  person  of  his 
new  companion  ;  "  I  have  been  near  dying  ; 
that  is  all." 

"  Have  been  ?  "  said  Meredith.  "  Are  you 
not — are  not  we  all — near  dying  now  ?  A 
gale  more  or  less,  a  spark  of  fire,  a  wrong 
turn  of  the  helm,  and  we  are  all  in  eternity! 
How  can  any  reasonable  creature  be  indiffer- 
ent for  a  moment  to  such  a  terrible  thought." 

"  It  would  be  terrible,  indeed,  if  God  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  Colin  ;  and,  no 
doubt,  death  overcomes  one  when  one  looks 
at  it  far  off.  I  don't  think,  however,  that 
his  face  carries  much  terror  when  he  is  near. 
The  only  thing  is  the  entire  ignorance  we  are 
in.  What  it  is  ;  where  it  carries  us  ;  what 
is  the  extent  of  the  separation  it  makes, — 
all  these  questions  are  so  hard  to  answer." 
Colin's  eyes  went  away  as  he  spoke  ;  and  his 
new  friend,  like  Matty  Frankland,  was  puz- 
zled and  irritated  by  the  look  which  he  could 
not  follow.  He  broke  in  hastily,  with  a  de- 
gree of  passion  totally  unlike  Colin's  calm. 

"  You  think  of  it  as  a  speculative  ques- 
tion," he  said  ;  "  I  think  of  it  as  a  dreadful 
realitySJ  You  seem  at  leisure  to  consider 
when  and  how ;  but  have  you  ever  considered 
the  dreadful  alternative?  Have  you  never 
imagined  yourself  one  of  the  lost, — in  outer 
darkness, — shutout, — separated  from  all  good, 
— condemned  to  sink  lower  and  lower  ?  Have 
you  ever  contemplated  the  possibility?  " — 

"  No,"  said  Colin,  rising  ;  "  I  have  never 
contemplated  that  possibility,  and  I  have  no 
wish  to  do  so  now.  Let  us  postpone  the  dis- 
cussion. Nothing  anybody  can  say,"  the 
young  man  continued,  holding  out  his  hand 
to  meet  the  feverish  thin  fingers  which  were 
stretched  toward  him,  "  can  make  me  afraid 
of  God." 

"  Not  if  you  had  to  meet  him  this  night 
in  judgment?  "  said  the  solemn  voice  of  the 
young  prophet,  who  would  not  lose  a  last  op- 
portunity. The  words  and  the  look  sent  a 
strange  chill  through  Colin's  veins.  His  hand 
was  held  tight  in  the  feverish  hand  of  the  sick 


man  ;  the  dark  hollowed  eyes  were  looking 
him  through  and  through.  Death  himself, 
could  he  have  taken  shape  and  form,  could 
scarcely  have  confronted  life  in  a  more  solemn 
guise.  "  Not  if  you  had  to  meet  him  in 
judgment  this  night?  " 

"  You  put  the  case  very  strongly,'"  said 
Colin,  who  grew  a  little  pale  in  spite  of  him- 
self. "  But  I  answer.  No — no.  The  gospel 
has  come  for  very  little  purpose  if  it  leaves 
any  of  his  children  in  fear  of  the  Heavenly 
Father.  No  more  to-night.  You  look  tired , 
as  you  may  well  be,  with  all  your  exertions, 
and  after  this  rough  weather." 

"  The  rough  weather  ie  nothing  to  me," 
said  Meredith;  "  I  must  work  while  it  is  day 
— the  night  cometh  in  which  no  man  can 
work." 

"  The  night  has  come,"  said  Colin,  doing 
the  best  he  could  to  smile, — "  the  quiet  hu- 
man night,  in  which  men  do  not  attempt  to 
work.  Don't  you  think  you  should  obey 
the  natural  ordinances  as  well  as  the  spirit- 
ual ?  To-morrow  we  will  meet,  better  qual- 
ified to  discuss  the  question." 

"  To-morrow  we  may  meei  in  eternity," 
said  the  dying  man. 

"  Amen.  The  question  will  be  clear  then, 
and  we  shall  have  no  need  to  discuss  it," 
said  Colin.  This  time  he  managed  better  to 
smile.  "•  But,  wherever  we  meet  to-morrow, 
good-by  for  to-night, — good-by.  You  know 
what  the  word  means,"  said  the  young  man. 
He  smiled  to  himself  now  at  the  thoughts 
suggested  to  him  by  bis  own  words.  He  too 
was  pale,  and  had  no  great  appearance  of 
strength.  If  he  himself  felt  the  current  of  life 
flowing  back  into  his  veins,  the  world,  and 
even  his  friends,  were  scarcely  of  his  opinion. 
He  looked  but  a  little  way  farther  off  the 
solemn  verge  than  his  new  acquaintance  did, 
as  he  stood  at  the  door  of  the  little  cabin,  his 
face  lit  up  with  the  vague,  sweet,  brighten- 
ing of  a  smile,  which  was  not  called  forth  by 
anything  external,  but  come  out  of  the  mus- 
ings and  memories  of  his  own  heart.  Such  a 
smile  could  not  be  counterfeit.  When  he  had 
turned  toward  the  narrow  stair  which  led  to 
the  deck,  he  felt  a  touch  upon  his  arm,  like 
the  touch  of  a  bird,  it  was  so  light  and  mo- 
mentary. "  Come  again,"  said  a  voice  in  his 
ears,  "  come  again."  He  knew  ii  was  the 
sister  who  spoke  ;  but  the  voice  did  not  sound 
in  Colin's  ears  as  the  voice  of  a  woman  to  a 
man.     It  was  impersonal,  disembodcd,  inde- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


pendeat  of  all  common  restrictions.  She 
had  merged  her  identity  altogether  in  that  of 
her  brotlier.  All  the  light,  all  the  warmth, 
all  the  human  influence  she  had,  she  was 
pouring  into  him,  like  a  lantern,  bright  only 
for  the  bearer,  turning  a  dark  side  to  the 
world.  Colin's  head  throbbed  and  felt  giddy 
when  he  emerged  into  the  open  air  above 
into  the  cold  moonlight,  to  which  the  heav- 
ing of  the  sea  gave  a  look  of  disturbance  and 
agitation  which  almost  reached  the  length  of 
pain.  There  was  nothing  akin,  in  that  pas- 
sionless light,  to  the  tumult  of  the  great  chaf- 
ing ocean,  the  element  most  like  humanity. 
True,  it  was  not  real  storm,  but  only  the  long 
pan  tings  of  the  vast  bosom,  after  one  of  those 
anger-fits  to  which  the  giant  is  prone  ;  but  a 
fanciful  spectator  could  not  but  link  all  kinds 
of  imaginations  to  the  night,  and  Colin  was 
preeminently  a  fanciful  spectator.  It  looked 
like  the  man  storming,  the  woman  watching 
with  looks  of  powerless  anguish  ;  or  like 
the  world  heaving  and  struggling,  and  some 
angel  of  heaven  grieving  and  looking  on. 
Colin  lingered  on  the  deck^  though  it  was 
cold,  and  rest  was  needful. 

What  could  there  be  in  the  future  existence 
more  dark,  more  hopeless  than  the  terrible 
enigmas  which  built  up  their  dead  walls 
around  a  man  in  this  world,  and  passed  in- 
terpretation. Even  the  darkest  hellof  poetic 
invention  comprehended  itself  and  knew  why 
it  was  ;  but  this  life  who  comprehended,  who 
could  explain  ?  The  thought  was  very  dif- 
ferent from  those  with  which  Arthur  Mere- 
dith resigned  himself  reluctantly  to  rest. 
He  could  not  consent  to  sleep  till  he  had 
written  a  page  or  two  of  the  book  which  he 
meant  to  leave  as  a  legacy  to  the  world,  and 
which  was  to  be  called  "  A  Voice  from  the 
Grave ; ' '  the  poor  young  fellow  had  forgotten 
that  God  himself  was  likely  to  take  some 
pains  about  the  world  which  had  cost  so 
much.  After  the  "  unspeakable  gift  "  once 
for  all,  it  appeared  to  young  Meredith  that 
the  rest  of  the  work  was  left  on  his  shoulders, 
and  on  the  shoulders  of  such  as  he ;  and,  ac- 
cordingly, he  wore  his  dying  strength  out,  ad- 
dressing everybody  in  season  and  out  of  sea- 
son, and  working  at  "  A  Voice  from  the 
Grave."  A  strange  voice  it  was, — saying 
little  that  was  consolatory  ;  yet,  in  its  way, 
true  as  everything  is  true,  in  a  certain  limited 
sense,  which  comes  from  the  heart.  The  name 
of  the  Redeemer  was  named  a  great  many 


121 

times  ;  but  the  spirit  of  it  was  as  if  no  Re- 
deemer had  ever  come.  A  world  dark,  con- 
fused, and  full  of  judgments  and  punish- 
ments,— a  world  in  which  men  would  not  be- 
lieve though  one  rose  from  the  grave, — was 
the  world  into  which  he  looked,  and  for  which 
he  was  working.  His  sister  Alice,  watching 
by  his  side,  noting  with  keen  anxiety  every 
time  the  pen  slipped  from  his  fingers,  every 
time  it  went  vaguely  over  the  paper  in  starts 
which  told  he  had  gone  half  to  sleep  over  his 
work,  sat  with  her  intelligence  unawakened, 
and  her  whole  being  slumbering,  thinking  of 
nothing  but  him.  After  all,  Colin  was  not 
so  fanciful  when  in  his  heart  it  occurred  to 
him  to  connect  these  two  with  the  appearance 
of  the  moon  and  the  sea.  They  had  opened 
the  book  of  their  life  to  him  fortuitously, 
without  any  explanations,  and  he  did  not 
know  what  to  make  of  it.  When  he  de- 
scended to  his  own  cabin  and  found  Lauder- 
dale fast  asleep,  the  young  man  could  not  but 
give  a  little  time  to  the  consideration  of  this 
new  scene  which  had  opened  in  his  life.  It 
was  natural  to  Colin's  age  and  temperament 
to  expect  that  something  would  come  of  such 
a  strange  accidental  meeting  ;  and  so  he  lay 
■and  pondered  it,  looking  out  at  the  troubled 
moonlight  on  the  water,  till  that  disturbed, 
guardian  of  the  night  had  left  her  big  trouble- 
some charge  to  himself.  The  ship  ploughed 
along  its  lonely  road  with  tolerable  composure 
and  quietness,  for  the  first  time  since  it  set 
out,  and  permitted  to  some  of  its  weary  pas- 
sengers unwonted  comfort  and  sleep;  Hbut,  as 
for  Colin,  a  sense  of  having  set  out  upon  a 
new  voyage  came  into  his  mind,  be  could  not 
tell  why. 

CHAPTER  XXVII- 

"  I'm  no  saying  if  I'm  well  or  ill,"  said 
Lauderdale  ;  "I'm  saying  it's  grand  for  you 
to  leave  your  friends  in  a  suffering  condition, 
and  go  off  and  make  up  to  other  folks.  It's 
well  to  be  off  with  the  old  love.  For  my  own 
part,  however,"  said  Colin's  Mentor,  "  I'm  no 
for  having  a  great  deal  to  do  with  women. 
They're  awfu '  doubtful  creatures,  you  maytake 
my  word  for  it :  some  seem  about  as  good  as  the 
angels, — no  that  I  have  any  personal  acquain- 
tance with  the  angels,  but  it's  aye  an  intelli- 
gible metaphor ;  some  just  as  far  on  the  other 
side.  Besides,  it's  a'  poor  thing  for  a  man  to 
fritter  away  what  little  capability  of  a  true 
feeling  there  may  be  in  him.     I've  no  fancy 


122 


for  the  kind  of  friendships  that  are  carried 
on  after  the  manner  of  flirtations.  For  my 
part,  I'm  a  believer  in  /ore,"  said  the  philos- 
opher, with  a  sudden  fervor  of  reproof  which 
brought  an  unusual  amount  of  color  to  his 
face. 

"  You  are  absurd  all  the  same,"  said  Co- 
lin, laughing  ;  "  here  is  no  question  either  of 
love,  or  flirtation,  or  even  friendship.  I  know 
what  you  mean,"  he  added  with  a  slightly 
heightened  color  ;  "  you  think  that,  having 
once  imagined  1  admired  Miss  Frankland,  I 
ought  to  have  continued  in  the  same  mind  all 
my  life.  You  don't  appreciate  my  good  sense, 
Lauderdale ;  but,  at  all  events,  the  young 
lady  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  interest  here." 

"  I  was  saying  nothing  about  Miss  Frank- 
land,"  said  Lauderdale;  "I  was  making  a 
confession  of  faith  on  my  own  part,  which 
has  naetbing  to  do  with  you  that  I  can  see. 
As  for  the  young  leddy,  as  you  say,  if  it 
doesna  begin  with  her,  it's  a'  the  more  likely 
to  end  with  her,  according  to  my  experience. 
To  be  sure,  there's  no  great  amount  of  time  ; 
but  a  boat  like  this  is  provocative  of  intimacy. 
You're  aye  in  the  second  cabin,  which  is  a 
kind  of  safeguard  ;  but,  as  for  your  good 
sense  " — 

"  "  Don't  associate  that  poor  fellow's  name 
with  anything  ridiculous,"  said  Colin  ;  "  but 
come  up  on  deck,  like  a  reasonable  man,  and 
judge  for  yourself." 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Lauderdale,  slowly;  "I 
understand  the  kind  of  thing.  I've  seen  it 
many  a  day  myself.  Partly  youthfujness, 
that  thinks  the  thing  that  is  happening  to 
itself  more  important  than  anything  else  in 
the  world  ;  partly  a  kind  of  self-regard  ; 
partly  a  wish  to  take  compensation  out  of  the 
world  for  what  it  is  giving  up.  I'm  no  say- 
ing but  there's  something  better  at  the  bot- 
tom ;  but  it's  awfu'  hard  to  separate  the  phys- 
ical and  the  spiritual.  I  wouldna  say  but 
even  you,  your  own  self — but  it  took  a  dif- 
ferent form  with  you,"  said  Lauderdale,  stop- 
ping short  abruptly.  Looking  at  Colin,  and 
seeing  that  still  there  was  not  much  bloom 
on  his  worn  checks,  it  occurred  to  his  careful 
guardian  that  it  might  be  as  well  not  to  re- 
call the  distempered  thoughts  of  the  sick- 
room at  Wodensbourne  to  the  mind  of  his 
patient.  '•  This  is  a  diflerent  kind  of  con- 
stitution, I'm  thinking,"  he  went  on,  in 
some  haste. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  said  Colin;] 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


*'  it  took  a  diflerent  form  with  me, — a  more 
undutiful,  unbelieving  form;  for  Meredith 
makes  no  question  what  it  means,  as  I  used 
to  do." 

"  I'm  no  so  clear  of  that,"  said  Lauder- 
dale. "  It's  seldom  unbelief  that  asks  a  rea- 
son. I  would  not  say,  now  I'm  on  my  feet, 
but  what  there  may  be  a  place  known  among 
men  by  the  name  of  Italy.  Come,  callant, 
and  let  me  see  if  the  skies  are  aught  like 
what  they  are  at  hame." 

Everytliing  was  changed  when  Colin  and 
his  friend  stood  again  on  deck.  The  calm 
weather  had  restored  to  life  the  crowd  of  sea- 
sick passengers  who,  like  Lauderdale,  had, 
up  to  this  moment,  kept  themselves  and  their 
miseries  under  cover  below.  The  universal 
scepticism  and  doubt  of  ever  being  better  had 
given  way  to  a  cheerful  confidence.  Every- 
body believed — happy  in  his  delusion — that 
for  himself  he  had  mastered  the  demon,  and 
would  be  sea-sick  no  more.  Among  so  many, 
it  was  not  so  easy  to  distinguish  Meredith  as 
Colin  had  expected  ;  and  he  had  time  to  dis- 
cuss several  matters  with  Lauderdale,  show- 
ing a  certain  acrid  feeling  on  his  side  of  the 
question  which  surprised  his  interlocutor,  be- 
fore his  new^  friends  appeared.  Colin  had 
taken  his  second-class  berth  gladly  enough, 
without  thinking  of  any  drawback  ;  but, 
when  he  saw  the  limit  clearly  before  his  eyes, 
and  perceived  within  reach,  and  indeed  with- 
in hearing,  the  little  "  society  "  which  he  was 
not  able  to  join,  the  fact  of  this  momentary 
inferiority  chafed  him  a  little.  Like  most 
other  people,  he  had  a  dislike  to  the  second 
place, — not  that  he  cared  about  society,  as  he 
took  pains  to  convince  himself.  But  the  truth 
was,  that  Colin  did  care  for  society,  and, 
though  too  proud  to  confess  such  a  thought, 
even  to  himself,  secretly  longed  to  join  those 
new  groups  which  were  gradually  growing 
into  acquaintance  before  his  eyes.  When  he 
saw  the  two  figures  approaching  which  had 
attracted  him  so  strongly  on  the  previous 
night,  his  heart  gave  a  little  jump,  though 
his  eyes  were  fixed  in  another  direction. 
They  were  not  only  two  curious  human  crea- 
tures whom  it  was  hard  to  comprehend,  but, 
at  the  same  time,  they  represented  the  world 
to  Colin,  who  was  at  this  present  moment 
shut  out  from  intercourse  with  anybody  but 
Lauderdale,  whose  manner  of  musing  he 
knew  by  heart.  He  did  not  look  round,  but 
he  heard  the  footsteps  approaching,  and  would 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


have  been  equally  disappointed  and  irritated 
had  they  turned  back.  This  danger,  how- 
ever, speedily  terminated.  Meredith  came 
up  hastily,  drawing  along  with  him,  as  usual, 
the  sister  who  had  not  any  being  except  in 
him,  and  laid  his  thin  hand  on  Colin 's  shoul- 
der. The  sunshine  and  the  brightened  skies 
did  not  change  the  strain  of  the  young  preach- 
er's thoughts.  He  laid  his  hand  on  Colin, 
pressing  the  young  man's  shoulder  with  an 
emphatic  touch.  "  We  meet  again  in  the 
land  of  living  men,  in  the  place  of  hope," 
he  said,  leading  his  sister  with  him  as  he 
turned.  She  clung  to  him  so  closely  that 
they  moved  like  one,  without  any  apparent 
volition  on  her  part ;  and  even  Colin's  saluta- 
tion seemed  to  disturb  her,  as  if  it  had  been 
something  unnecessary  and  unexpected.  Her 
little  hurried  bow,  her  lips  that  just  parted, 
in  an  anxious  momentary  smile,  had  a  certain 
surprise  in  them  ;  and  there  was  even  a  little 
impatience,  as  if  she  had  said, "  Answer  him ; 
why  should  you  mind  me?  "  in  the  turn  of 
her  head. 

"  Yes,  we  meet  on  a  bright  morning,  which 
looks  like  life  and  hope,"  said  Colin,  "  and 
everybody  seems  disposed  to  enjoy  it ;  even 
my  friend  here,  who  has  been  helpless  since 
we  started,  has  come  to  life  at  last." 

Thus  directed,  Meredith's  eager  eyes  turned 
to  Lauderdale,  upon  whom  they  paused  with 
their  usual  solemn  inquiring  look.  "  I  hope 
he  has  come  to  life  in  a  higher  sense,"  said 
the  sick  man,  who  thought  it  his  duty  to 
speak  in  season  and  out  of  season  ;  but  for 
that  true' life,  existence  is  only  the  payment 
of  a  terrible  penalty.  I  hope,  like  you,  he 
has  thought  on  the  great  subject." 

When  he  stopped  short,  and  looked  straight 
in  Lauderdale's  face,  there  was  a  wonderful 
silence  over  the  little  group.  The  dying 
prophet  said  nothing,  but  looked  down,  aw- 
ful and  abstracted,  from  the  heights  of  death 
on  which  he  was  standing,  to  receive  an  an- 
swer, which  Lauderdale  was  too  much  taken 
by  surprise,  and  Colin  todpauch  alarmed  for 
the  result  of  the  inquiry,  to  give. 

"  I've  thought  on  an  awfu'  quantity  of 
subjects,"  said  Lauderdale,  after  a  moment, — 
"  a  hundred  or  two  more  than  ever  have  gone 
through  your  mind  at  your  age  ;  and  I'm  no 
averse  to  unfolding  my  experiences,  as  this 
callant  will  tell  you,"  he  added,  with  a  smile, 
which,  however,  was  lost  upon  his  questioner. 

"  Your  experiences !  "  said  Meredith.     He 


123 

put  his  thin  arm  eagerly,  before  any  one 
was  aware  what  he  intended  to  do,  through 
Laudei-dale's  arm.  "I  frighten  and  horrify 
many,"  said  the  invalid,  not  without  a  gleam 
of  satisfaction  ;  "  but  there  are  so  few,  so 
miserably  few,  with  whom  it  is  possible  to 
have  true  communion.  Let  me  share  your 
experiences  ;  there  must  be  instruction  in 
them." 

The  philosopher,  thus  seized,  made  a  comi- 
cal grimace,  unseen  by  anybody  but  Colin  ; 
but  the  sick  man  was  far  too  much  in  ear- 
nest to  observe  any  reluctance  on  the  part  of 
his  new  acquaintance,  and  Lauderdale  sub- 
mitted to  be  swept  on  in  the  strange  wind  of 
haste  and  anxiety  and  eagerness  which  sur- 
rounded the  dying  youth,  to  whom  a  world 
lying  in  wickedness,  and  "  I,  I  alone"  left  to^ 
maintain  the  knowledge  of  God  among  men, 
was  the  one  great  truth.  There  was  not 
much  room  to  move  about  upon  the  deck  ; 
and,  as  Meredith  turned  and  went  on,  with 
his  arm  in  Lauderdale's,  his  sister,  who  was 
sharply  turned  round  also  by  his  movement, 
found  it  hard  enough  to  maintain  her  position 
by  his  side.  Though  he  was  more  attached 
to  her  than  to  any  other  living  creature,  it 
was  not  his  habit,  as  it  might  have  been  in 
happier  circumstances,  to  care  for  her  com- 
fort, or  to  concern  himself  about  her  personal 
convenience.  He  swept  her  along  with  him 
on  the  hampered  deck,  through  passages 
which  were  barely  wide  enough  for  two,  but 
through  which  she  crushed  herself  as  long  as 
possible,  catching  her  dress  on  all  the  corners, 
and  losing  he* breath  in  the  effort.  As  for 
Colin,  he  found  himself  left  behind  with  a 
half-amazed,  half-mortified  sensation. 

"  Not  his  the  form,  not  his  the  eye, 
That  youthful  maidens  wont  to  fly  ;  " 

and  though  he  was  not  truly  open  to  Lauder- 
dale's' jibe  concerning  flirtations,  the  very 
name  of  that  agreeable  but  dangerous  amuse- 
ment had  roused  him  into  making  the  dis- 
covery that  Meredith's  sisterwas  very  pretty, 
and  that  there  was  something  extremely  in- 
teresting in  the  rapt  devotion  to  her  brother 
which  at  first  had  prevented  him  from  ob- 
serving her.  It  seemed  only  natural  that, 
when  the  sick  man  seized  upon  Lauderdale, 
the  young  lady  should  have  fallen  to  Colin's 
share  ;  and  he  kept  standing  where  they  had 
left  him,  as  has  been  described,  half  amused 
and  half  mortified,  thinking  to  himself  that, 


124 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL, 


f.i?ler  all,  he  was  not  an  ogre,  nor  a  person  i 
whom  ladies  in  general  are  apt  to  avoid. 
After  poor  little  Alice  ha'd  hurt  herself  and 
torn  her  dress  in  two  or  three  rapid  turns 
through  tlic  limited  space,  she  gave  up  her 
brother's  arm  with  a  pained,  surprised  look, 
which  went  to  Colin's  heart,  and  withdrew  to  | 
the  nearest  bench,  gathering  up  her  torn 
dress  in  her  hand,  and  still  keeping  her  eyes 
upon  him.  What  good  she  thought  she  could 
do  by  her  watching  it  was  difficult  to  tell ;  but 
it  evidently  was  the  entire  occupation  nnd 
object  of  her  life.  She  scarcely  turned  her 
eyes  upon  Colin  when  he  approached  ;  and, 
as  the  eyes  were  like  a.  fawn's, — brown,  wist- 
ful, and  appealing  (whereas  Miss  Matty's 
were  blue,  and  addicted  to  laughter), — it  is 
not  to  be  wondered  at  that  Colin,  in  whom 
his  youth  was  dimly  awakening,  with  all  its 
happier  susceptibilities,  should  feel  a  little 
pique  at  her  neglect.  The  shadow  of  death 
bad  floated  away  from  the  young  man's  hori- 
zon. He  believed  himself,  whether  truly  or 
not,  to  have  come  to  a  new  beginning  of  life. 
He  had  been  dead,  and  was  alive  again ;  and 
the  solemn  interval  of  suflering,  during  which 
he  questioned  earth  and  heaven,  had  made 
the  rebound  all  the' sweeter,  and  restored 
with  a  freshness  almost  more  delightful  than 
the  first,  the  dews  and  blossoms  to  the  new 
world.  Thus  he  approached  Alice  Meredith, 
who  had  no  attention  to  spare  to  him, — not 
with  any  idea  that  he  had  fallen  in  love  with 
her,  or  that  love  was  likely,  but  only  with  that 
vague  sense  that  Paradise  still  exists  some- 
where, not  entirely  out  of  reach|kind,  that  the 
sweet  Eve,  who  alone  can  reveal  it,  might 
meet  him  unawares  at  any  time  of  his  dreary 
path,  which  is  one  of  the  sweetest  privileges 
of  youth.  But  he  did  not  know  what  to  say 
to  the  other  youthful  creature,  who  ought  to 
have  been  as  conscious  of  such  possibilities  as 
he.  No  thought  was  in  her  mind  that  she 
ever  would  be  the  Eve  of  any  paradise  ;  and 
the  world  to  her  was  a  confused  and  darkling 
universe,  in  which  death  lay  lurking  some- 
where, she  could  not  tell  how  close  at  hand  ; 
death,  not  for  herself,  which  would  be  sweet, 
but  for  one  far  dearer  than  herself.  The 
more  she  felt  the  nearness  of  this  adversary, 
the  more  she  contradicted  herself  and  would  j 
not  believe  it ;  and  so  darkness  spread  all 
round  the  beginning  path  of  the  poor  girl, 
who  was  not  much  more  than  a  child.  She 
would  not  have  understood  the  meaning  of  I 


any  pretty  speeches,  had  Colin  been  so  far  left 
to  himself  as  to  think  of  making  them.  As 
■it  was,  she  looked  up  for  a  moment  wist- 
fully as  he  sat  down  beside  her.  She  thought 
in  her  mind  that  he  would  be  a  good  friend 
for  Arthur,  and  might  cheer  him  ;  which  was 
the  chief  thing  she  cared  for  in  this  world. 

"  Has  your  brother  been  long  ill?  "  said 
Colin.  It  seemed  the  only  subject  on  which 
the  two  could  speak. 

"  111?  "  said  Alice  ;  "  he  is  not  very  ill  ; 
he  takes  a  great  deal  of  exercise.  You  must 
have  observed  that ;  and  his  appetite  is  very 
good."  The  question  roused  her  to  contra- 
dict her  own  fears,  and  doing  so  out  loud  to 
another  was  more  effectual  somehow  than 
anything  she  could  say  to  herself.  "  The 
storm  which  made  everybody  else  so  ill  had 
no  effect  upon  Arthur,"  she  went  on  almost 
with  a  little  irritation.  "  He  is  thin,  to  be 
sure  ;  but  then  many  people  are  thin  who  are 
quite  well ;  and  I  am  sure  you  do  not  look 
very  strong  yourself." 

"No,"  said  Colin,  who  possessed  the  in- 
stinct, rare  among  men,  of  divining  what  his 
companion  wished  him  to  say  ;  "  my  people 
had  given  me  up  a  few  weeks  ago.  I  gave 
myself  a  poke  somewhere  in  the  lungs  which 
very  nearly  made  an  end  of  me  ;  but  I  mean 
to  get  better  if  I  can,"  he  said  with  a  smile 
which  for  the  moment  brought  a  doubtful 
look  upon  the  girl's  face. 

"  You  don't  think  it  wrong  to  talk  like 
that,"  she  said  ;  "  that  was  what  made  me 
wish  so  much  you  should  come  to  see  Arthur. 
Perhaps  if  he  were  more  cheerful,  it  would  do 
him  good.  Not  that  he  is  very  ill,  you  know, 
but  still — We  are  going  to  Italy,"  she  went 
on  with  a  little  abruptness,"  "  to  a  place 
near  Rome, — not  to  Rome  itself,  because  I  am 
a  little  afraid  of  that ;  but  into  the  country. 
Are  you  going  there  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Colin  ;  "  it  is  the 
place  in  the  world  most  interesting.  Do  you 
not  think  so  ?  But  everything  will  be  new 
tome."  gk 

' '  If  you  were  to  come  where  we  are  go- 
ing," said  his  compainion  with  a  composure 
which  was  wonderful  to  Colin,  "  you  would 
find  it  cheaper,  and  you  could  see  things  al- 
most as  easily,  and  it  would  not  be  so  hot 
when  summer  comes.  I  think  it  would  do 
Arthur  a  great  deal  of  good.  It  is  so  hard  to 
know  what  to  do  with  a  man,"  she  went  on, 
unconsciously  yielding  to  that  inexpressible 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


125 


influence  of  a  sympathetic  listener  which  few 
people  can  resist ;  "  they  cannot  occupy 
themselves,  you  know,  as  we  women  can,  and 
they  get  tired  of  our  society.  I  have  so  longed 
to  find  some  man  who  would  understand  him, 
and  whom  he  could  talk  to,"  cried  the  poor 
girl,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  She  made  a 
pause  when  she  had  said  so  much  ;  not  that 
it  occurred  to  her  that  any  one  could  mis- 
understand her,  but  because  the  tears  were 
getting  into  her  voice,  which  was  a  weakness 
not  to  be  yielded  to.  "  I  don't  know  why  I 
should  cry,"  she  added  a  minute  after,  with 
a  faint  smile  ;  "  it  is  talking  about  Italy  I 
suppose  ;  but  you  will  like  it  when  you  get 
there." 

"  Yet  you  do  not  seem  to  like  it,"  said 
Colin,  with  a  little  curiosity. 

This  time  she  made  him  no  direct  answer. 
Her  eyes  were  following  her  brother  and 
Lauderdale  as  they  walked  about  the  deck. 
"Is  he  nice?"  she  asked  with  a  little  ti- 
midity, pointing  at  Lauderdale,  and  giving 
another  hasty,  wistful  look  at  Colin's  face. 

"  I  don't  know  if  you  would  think  so," 
said  Colin  ;  "he  is  very  Scotch,  and  a  little 
odd  sometimes,  but  kinder  and  better,  and 
more  truly  a  friend  than  words  can  describe. 
He  is  tender  and  true,"  said  the  young  man, 
with  a  little  enthusiasm  which  woke  up  the 
palest  ghost  of  an  answering  light  in  his 
young  companion's  face. 

"  Being  Scotch  is  a  recommendation  to 
mc,"  she  said;  "the  only  person  I  ever 
loved,  except  Arthur,  of  course, — and  those 
who  are  gone, — was  Scotch."  After  this 
quaint  intimation,  which  woke  in  Colin's 
mind  an  incipient  spark  of  the  earliest  stage 
3f  jealousy, — not  jealousy  proper,  but  only  a 
lively  and  contemptuous  curiosity  to  know 
'  who  the  fellow  was," — she  dropped  back 
igain  into  her  habitual  silence.  When  Colin 
tried  to  bring  her  back  by  ordinary  remarks 
about  the  voyage  and  their  destination,  she 
answered  him  simply  by  "  Yes,"  or  "  No." 
She  was  of  one  idea,  incapable  apparently  of 
exerting  her  mind  on  any  other  subject. 
When  they  had  been  thus  sitting  silent  for 
some  time,  she  began  again  abruptly  at  the 
point  whei-e  she  had  left  oif. 

"  If  you  were  coming  to  the  same  place," 
she  said, — "  Arthur  can  speak  Italian  very 
well,  and  I  know  it  a  little, — we  might  be 
able  to  help  you,  and  you  would  have  very 
good  air, — pure  air  off  the  sea.     If  he  had 


society,  he  would  soon  be  better."  This  was 
said  softly  to  herself,  and  then  she  went  on, 
drawn  farther  and  farther  by  the  sympathy 
which  she  felt  in  her  listener.  "  There  are 
only  us  two  in  the  world." 

"  If  I  can  do  anything,"  said  Colin-,  "  as 
long  as  we  are  here  at  least ;  but  there  is  no 
lack  of  society,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
groups  on  the  quarter-deck,  at  which  Alice 
Meredith  shook  her  head. 

"  He  frightens  them,"  she  said  ;  "  they 
prefer  to  go  out  of  his  way  ;  they  don't  want 
to  answer  his  questions.  I  don't  know  why 
he  does  it.  When  he  was  young,  he  was  fond 
of  society,  and  went  out  a  great  deal ;  but  he 
has  changed  so  much  of  late,"  said  the  anx- 
ious sister,  with  a  certain  look  of  doubt  and 
wonder  on  her  face.  She  was  not  quite  sure 
whether  the  change  was  an  improvement. 
"  I  don't  understand  it  very  well  myself," 
she  went  on,  with  a  sigh  ;  "  perhaps  I  have 
not  thought  enough  about  it.  And  then  he 
does  not  mind  what  I  say  to  him — men  never 
do  ;  I  suppose  it  is  natural.  But,  if  he  had 
society,  and  you  would  talk  and  keep  him 
from  writing  " — 

"  Does  he  write?  "  said  Colin,  with  new, 
interest.  It  was  a  bond  of  sympathy  he  had 
not  expected  to  hear  of ;  and  here  again  the 
tears,  in  spite  of  all  her  exertions,  got  into 
Alice's  voice. 

"  At  night,  when  he  ought  to  be  sleeping," 
said  the  poor  girl.  "  I  don't  mean  to  say  he 
is  very  ill ;  but,  oh  !  Mr.  Campbell,  is  it  not 
enough  to  make  any  man  ill  to  sit  up  when 
he  is  so  tired  he  cannot  keep  awake,  writing 
that  dreadful  book?  He  is  going  to  call  it 
'  A  voice  from  the  Grave.'  I  s'ometimes  think 
he  wants  to  break  my  heart ;  for  what  has 
the  grave  to  do  with  it  ?  He  is  rather  deli- 
cate, but  so  are  you.  Most  people  are  deli- 
cate," said  poor  Alice,  "  when  they  sit  up  at 
night,  anddon't  take  care  of  themselves.  If 
you  coulcronly  get  him  to  give  up  that  book, 
I  would  bless  you  all  my  life." 

Such  an  appeal  from  sweet  lips  quivering 
with  suppressed  anguish,  from  beautiful  eyes 
full  of  heavy  tears,  was  not  likely  to  be  with- 
out effect ;  and,  when  Colin  went  to  his  own 
cabin  in  the  evening,  hearing  but  imperfectly 
the  criticisms  of  Lauderdale  on  his  new  friend 
and  his  affairs,  he  was  more  and  more  im- 
pressed by  the  conviction  that  something  must 
come  of  an  encounter  so  singular  and  unex- 
pected.     The  young  man  immediately  set 


126 


himself  to  wind  new  threads  of  fate  about  his 
feet,  and,  while  he  was  doing  so,  thought 
with  a  little  thrill  of  the  wonderful  way  in 
which  things  came  about,  and  the  possible 
purposes  of  Providence  in  this  new  change. 
It  aroused  and  excited  him  to  see  the  new 
scenery  coming  into  its  place,  and  the  ground 
preparing  for  another  act  of  his  life. 

CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

"  What  for?  "  said  Lauderdale.  "  I'll  no 
say  but  what  it's  an  interesting  study,  if  life 
was  long  enough  to  allow  such  indulgences  ; 
but — take  you  my  word  for  it,  calla'«t— it's 
awfu'  hard  to  see  a  life  wearing  out  like  that, 
drop  by  drop.  It's  not  only  that  you  might 
get  to  be  fond  of  the  poor  lad  himself,  and 
miss  him  sae  when  he  was  gone,"  said  the 
philosopher,  who  had  not  just  then  perfect 
command  of  himself;  but  it  raises  awfu' 
questioiss,  and  you  are  not  one  of  those  that 
can  take  things  as  they  come  and  ask  no  rea- 
son. What  should  you  bind  yourself  for  ?  I 
see  a'  that  would  happen  as  clear  as  day. 
You  would  go  into  a  bit  country  place  with 
him,  only  to  watch  him  die  ;  and,  when  he 
was  gone,  you  would  be  left  with  the  bit  bon- 
nie  sister,  two  bairns  together — and  then  ; 
but  you're  no  destitute  of  imagination,"  said 
Lauderdale,  grimly  ;  "  and  I  leave  you  to 
Bgure  that  part  of  the  business  to  yoursel"." 

"  This  is  foolish  talk,"  said  Colin.  "  The 
sister,  except  that  I  am  very  sorry  for  her, 
has  nothing  iu  the  world  to  do  with  it.  If 
we  could  manage  as  well  beside  them  as  any- 
where else,  one  should  be  glad  to  be  of  some 
use  to  one's  fellow-creatures.  I  am  not  afraid 
of  anything  that  might  happen,"  the  young 
man  added,  with  a  slight  additional  color. 
•'As  for  responsibility,  it  is  strange  to  hear 
you  warning  me  against  that, — you  who  were 
willing  to  take  upon  yourself  all  the  responsi- 
bility of  travelling  with  me  when  you  thought 
[  was  dying  " — 

"  No  such  thing,"  said  Lauderdale,  hotly. 
"  I'm  fool  enough,  no  doubt ;  but  no  such  a 
fool  as  that.  Gallants  of  your  age  canna 
keep  a  medium.  When  you  have  a  sore  fin- 
ger, you  take  thoughts  of  dying  ;  but  I'm  a 
man  of  some  experience  in  this  world.  I'm 
travelling  for  my  own  pleasure  and  no  for 
you,  nor  no  man.  As  for  this  lad,  I've  seen 
the  like  before.  He's  no  singular,  thougli 
I've  little  doubt  he  thinks  he  is.  It's  awfu' 
hard  work  to  stop  short  just  when  you've 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 

come  to  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  see  a'  the 
fair  prospect  before  you,"  said  Colin 's  guar- 


dian, whose  countenance  was  overcast  and 
cloudy.  "  When  the  mind's  no  very  strong, 
the  like  of  that  sets  it  off  its  balance.  I've 
seen  them  that  came  out  of  the  trial  as  calm 
as  the  angels  of  God,"  he  went  on,  after  a 
little  pause,  with  a  strain  in  his  voice  which 
showed  unusual  emotion  ;  "  and  I  have  seen 
them  that  battled  with  him  that  made  them, 
to  make  him  render  a  reason  ;  and  I  have  seen 
them  that  took  it  with  a  high  hand,  and 
tus'ned  into  preachers  like  this  one.  '  A 
Voice  from  the  Grave,'  did  she  say?  But 
you're  a'  babies  that  ken  no  better.  How 
are  the  like  of  you  to  know  that  there's  men 
like  me — ay,  and  women  more  than  men — 
tliat  would  give  a'  their  living,  and  would 
not  grudge  life  itself,  no  for  a  voice  only,  but 
for  two  or  three  words — for  one  word  and  no 
more."  He  put  down  his  face  in  his  hands 
for  a  moment  as  he  spoke,  though  not  to  con- 
ceal tears  ;  for  Lauderdale's  sorrows,  what- 
ever they  might  have  been,  were  wrapped  in 
the  deadly  stillness  of  that  past  grief  with 
which  no  stranger  intermeddles ;  and  his 
young  companion  was  watching  him  sorrow- 
fully, sympathetically,  but  in  ignorance,  and 
with  the  timidity  of  youth,  not  knowing  what 
to  say. 

"  Him,  and  the  like  of  him,"  said  Lauder- 
dale, going  on  more  softly  when  he  found  that 
Colin  made  no  reply,  "  their  voice  from  the 
grave  is  like  a  Halloween  ghost  to  frighten 
the  unwary.  Whisht,  callant ;  I'm  no  laugh- 
ing at  the  poor  dying  lad.  There's  nae  laugh- 
ing iu  my  head  one  way  or  another  ;  but  it's 
so  little  you  know.  You  never  think,  with 
your  warnings  and  your  terrors,  of  us  that 
have  sat  by  our  graves  for  years,  and  been 
confounded  by  the  awfu'  silence.  Why  can 
they  no  speak  nor  we  hear?  You'll  no  tell 
me  that  Heaven  and  the  presence  of  God  can 
take  the  love  out  of  a  living  soul.  I  wish 
you  would  not  disturb  my  mind  with  your 
vain  thoughts,"  he  said,  with  a  momentary 
fretfulness.  "  It's  no  a  question  I  dare  go 
into.  If  love's  no  everlasting,  I've  no  desire 
to  bQ  everlasting  myself;  and,  if  I'm  to  be  no 
more  to  them  that  belong  to  me  hereafter 
than  to  those  legions  of  strange  angels,  or  a 
haill  nation  of  other  folk  ! —  Whisht,  cal- 
lant !  you're  no  to  say  such  things  to  me." 

Colin  said-  nothing  at  all  to  interrupt  this 
monologue.     He  let  his  friend  wear  himself 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


out,  pacing  up  and  down  the  narrow  little 
cabin,  which  it  required  but  two  of  Lauder- 
dale's strides  to  traverse  from  end  to  end. 
He  had  known  a  chance  word  to  produce 
gimilar  results  before ;  but  had  never  been 
made  acquainted  with  the  I'eal  history  of  his 
friend's  life.  He  waited  now  till  this  excite 
ment  was  over,  knowing  by  experience  that 
it  was  the  best  way ;  and,  after  a  while 
Lauderdale  calmed  down  and  came  back  to 
his  seat,  and  resumed  the  conversation  where 
^he  had  left  it  before  his  heart  within  him 
Was  rouoed  to  make  brief  utterance  of  its  un- 
known burden. 

"  The  short  and  the  long  of  it  is,"  said 
Lauderdale,  "  that  you're  making  up  your 
mind,  by  some  pi-ocess  of  your  own — I'm  no 
saying  what  it  is — to  give  up  our  own  plan 
and  tack  yourself  on  to  a  poor  failing  callant 
that  has  not  above  a  month  or  two  to  live." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  has  not  above  a 
month  or  two  to  live  ?  "  said  Colin.  "  You 
thought  the  same  of  me  a  few  weeks  ago. 
One  hears  of  the  climate  working  wonders  : 
and,  if  he  had  some  one  by  him  to  amuse  and 
interest  him,  and  keep  him  off  that  book,  as 
■^— as  Miss  Meredith  says  " — 

'-  Oh,  ay,  no  dcpbt,  no  doubt,"  said  Lau- 
derdale, dryly.  "  He  has  one  nurse  already 
bound  to  him  body  and  soul,  and,  maybe,  if 
he  had  another  to  undertake  the  spiritual  de- 
partment!—  But  you're  no  old  enough, 
callant,  to  take  him  in  hand,  and  you're  no 
strong  enough,  and  I  cannot  say,  for  my  own 
part,  that  I  see  any  special  qualification  for 
such  an  office  in  ye,"  said  the  merciless  crit- 
ic, looking  at  Colin  in  a  seriously  contem- 
plative way,  with  his  head  a  little  on  one  side. 
After  he  had  shown  any  need  emotion,  Lau- 
derdale, like  a  true  Britain,  despised  himself, 
and  made  as  great  a  leap  as  was  practicable 
on  the  other  side. 

"  No,"  said  Oblin,  who  was  a  little  piqued 
in  spite  of  himself ;  "I  don't  suppose  I  am 
good  for  much  ;  and  I  never  thought  cff  being 
his  nurse.  It  is  out  of  the  question  to  imag- 
ine that  I  could  be  for  Meredith,  or  any  other 
man,  what  you  have  been  for  me." 

"  I've  kent  ye  longer  than  two  days, "said 
Colin's  guardian,  without  showing  any  signs 
of  propitiation,  "which  to  be  sure  makes  a 
little  difference.  Those  that  are  destined  to 
come  together  need  little  time  to  make  it  up 
— I've  aye  been  a  believer,  for  my  part,  not 
only  in  love,  but  in  friendship,  at  first  sight." 


127 

"  There's  no  question  of  cither  love  or 
friendship,"  said  Colin,  with  prompt  irrita- 
tion. "  Surely  one  may  feel  pity,  sympathy, 
fellow-feeling,  with  a  man  of  one's  own  age 
without  being  misunderstood." 

"  I  understand  you  an  awfu'  deal  better 
than  you  understand  yourself,"  said  Lauder- 
dale ;  "  and,  as  I  was  saying,  I  am  a  great 
believer  in  first  impressions.  It's  a  mercenary 
kind  of  thing  to  be  friends  with  a  man  for  his 
good  qualities, — there's  a  kind  of  barter  in 
it  that  goes  against  my  instincts  ;  but,  when 
you  take  to  a  man  for  nae  reason,  but  out  of 
pure  election  and  choice,  that's  real  friend- 
ship— or  love,  as  it  might  me,"  he  went  on, 
without  pity,  enjoying  the  heightened  color 
and  air  of  embarrassment  on  Colin's  face. 

"  You  say  all  this  to  make  me  lose  my  tem- 
per," said  Colin.  "  Den't  let  us  say  any 
more  to-night ;  I  will  think  it  all  over  again, 
since  you  oppose  it,  and  to-morrow  " — 

"Ay,  to-morrow,"  said  Lauderdale, — "  it's 
a  bonnie  rai-e  world,  and  we'll  no  interfere 
with  it.  Good-night,  callant ;  I'm  no  a  man 
that  can  be  quarrelled  with  if  you  tried  ever 
so  hard, — to-morrow  you'll  take  your  own 
way." 

Colin  did  not  sleep  till  the  night  was  far 
advanced .  He  lay  awake,  watching  the  moon- 
light, and  pondering  over  this  matter,  which 
looked  very  important  as  he  contemplated  it. 
By  thinking  was  meant,  in  his  mind,  as  in 
most  minds  of  his  age,  not  any  complicated 
course  of  reasoning,  but  a  rapid  framing  of 
pictures  on  one  side  and  the  other.  On  one 
side  he  saw  Meredith  beguiled  from  his  book, 
persuaded  to  moderate  his  words  in  season 
and  out  of  season,  and  induced  to  take  a  lit- 
tle interest  in  ordinary  human  affairs,  gradu- 
ally recovering  his  health,  and  returning  to  a 
life  which  should  no  longer  appear  to  him  a 
near  preparation  for  dying  ;  and  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  there  did  come  into  Colin's  mind 
a  certain  consciousness  of  grateful  looks  and 
sweet-voiced  thanks  attending  this  restora- 
tion, which  made  the  pictures  wonderfully 
pleasant.  Then,  on  the  other  side,  there 
was  Lauderdale's  sketch  of  the  sudden  possi- 
bilities filled  in  by  Colin's  imagination  :  poor 
Meredith  dying  slowly,  looking  death  in  the 
face  for  long  days  and  lonely  nights,  sorely 
wanting  all  the  succor  that  human  compas- 
sion could  give  him  ;  and  the  forlorn  and  soli- 
tary mourner  that  woul  1  be  left,  so  young  and 
friendless,  by  the  stranger's  grave.     Perhaps, 


128 

on  the  whole,  this  suggestion  of  Lauderdale's 
decided  the  matter.  The  thought  was  too 
pitiful,  too  sad  to  be  borne.  She  was  nothing 
ir.  the  world  to  him  ;  but  she  was  a  woman, 
and  Colin  thought  indignantly  of  the  unchris- 
tian cowardice  which,  for  fear  of  responsibil- 
ity, would  desert  a  friendless  creature  ex- 
posed to  such  dangers.  Notwithstanding,  he 
was  prudent,  very  prudent,  as  was  natural. 
It  was  not  Alice,  but  Arthur  Meredith  who 
was  his  friend.  She  had  nothing  to  do  with 
this  decision  whatever.  If  such  a  melan- 
choly necessity  should  happen,  Colin  felt  it 
was  in  him,  respectfully,  sympathetically,  to 
take  the  poor  girl  home ;  and  if,  somehow, 
the  word  "home"  suggested  to  Kim  his 
mother,  who  that  knew  anything  of  the  mis- 
tress could  wonder  at  that  thought?  Thus 
he  went  on  drawing  the  meshes  closer  about 
his  feet,  while  the  moonlight  shone  on  the 
sea,  and  poor  Meredith  wrote  his  book,  and 
Lauderdale,  as  sleepless  as  his  charge,  anx- 
iously pondered  the  new  state  of  affairs.  At 
home  that  same  moon  suggested  Colin  to  more 
minds  than  one  in  the  peaceful  country  over 
which  the  March  winds  were  blowing.  Miss 
Matty  thought  of  him,  looking  out  over  the 
Wodensbourne  avenue,  where  the  great  trees 
stood  stately  in  the  moonlight  streaming  a 
glory  on  their  heads.  She  was  so  late  because 
she  had  been  at  a  ball,  where  her  Cousin 
Harry  had  made  himself  highly  disagreeable, 
and  when,  prompted  by  his  sulky  looks,  she 
had  carried  a  little  flirtation  a  hair's-breadth 
too  far,  which  was  not  a  comfortable  con- 
Bciousness.  Why  she  should  think  of  Colin 
under  such  circumstances  it  would  be  hard  to 
say  ;  but  the  thoughts  of  a  young  woman  at 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  are  not  expected 
to  be  logical.  She  thought  of  him  with  a 
shadow  of  the  same  feeling  that  made  the 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


psalmist  long  for  the  wings  of  a  dove  ;  though, 
if  Miss  Matty  had  but  known  it,  l;cr  recep- 
tion— could  she  have  made  her  escape  to  her 
former  worshipper  at  that  moment — would 
have  been  of  a  disappointing  character.  And 
about  the  same  time  the  mistress  wolcc  out  of 
her  quiet  sleep,  and  saw  the  broad  wliite  flood 
of  light  streaming  through  the  little  square 
window  of  the  room  in  which  Colin  was  born. 
Her  fancy  was  busy  enough  about  him  night 
and  day;  and  she  fancied  she  could  see,  as 
clear  as  a  picture,  the  ship  speeding  on,  with 
perhaps  its  white  wings  spread  over  the  glis- 
tening sea,  and  the  moon  stealing  in  at  the 
cabin  window,  and  caressing  her  boy,  who 
was  fast  asleep,  resting  and  gathering  strength 
with  new  life  breathing  in  upon  him  in  every 
breath  of  favorable  wind  that  crisped  the 
sleeping  sea.  Such  was  the  vision  that  came 
to  the  mind  of  the  mistress  when  she  awoke 
in  the  "  dead  of  night,"  and  saw  the  moon- 
light at  her  window.  "  God  bless  my  Co- 
lin," she  said  to  herself,  as  she  closed  her 
tender  eyes ;  and  in  the  mean  time  Colin, 
thinking  nothing  of  his  old  love,  and  not  very 
much  of  his  home-life,  was  busily  engaged  in 
weaving  for  himself  another  tangle  in  the  va- 
ried web  of  existence,  alUjough  none  of  the 
people  most  interested  in  him^except  Lau- 
derdale, who  saw  a  faint  shadow  of  the  fu- 
ture— had  the  least  idea  that  this  night  at 
sea  was  of  any  moment  in  his  life.  He  did 
not  know  it  himself,  though  he  was  conscious 
of  a  certain  thrill  of  pleasant  excitement  and 
youthful  awe,  half  voluntary,  half  real.  And 
so  the  new  scene  got  arranged  for  this  new 
act  in  the  wonderful  drama  ;  and  all  the  mar- 
vellous, delicate  influences  of  Providence  and 
will,  poising  and  balancing  each  other,  began 
to  form  and  shape  the  further  "outlines  of  Co- 
lin's  life. 


An  Ample  Apology. — A  clergyman  at  Cam- 
bridge preached  a  sermon  which  one  of  his  audi- 
tors commended.  "  Yes,"  said  the  gentleman  to 
whom  it  was  mentioned,  "  it  was  a  good  sermon, 
but  he  stole  it."  This  was  repeated  to  the  preach- 
er, lie  resented  it,  and  called  on  the  gentleman 
to  retract.  «'  I  am  not,"  replied  the  aggressor, 
"  very  apt  to  retract  my  words  ;  but  in  this  in- 
stance I  will.  I  said  you  had  stolen  the  sermon. 
I  find  I  was  wrong,  for  on  returning  home  and  re- 


ferring to  the  book  whence  I  thought  it  was  taken, 
I  found  it  there  J* 

The  English  Woman 's  Journal  for  May  has  an 
article  commending  in  warm  terms  the  conduct 
of  the  American  women  during  our  civil  war, 
both  their  readiness  to  meet  self-sacrifices  and 
their  effective  co-operation  to  supply  the  needs  of 
the  soldiers.  The  writer  predicts  an  increased  in- 
fluence of  woman  upon  the  coui"se  of  public  affairs. 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


PART     X. — CHAPTER   XXIX. 

The  place  which  the  Meredith's  had  chosen 
for  their  residence  was  Frascati,  where  every- 
thing was  quieter,  and  most  things  cheaper, 
than  in  Rome, — to  which,  besides,  the  broth- 
er and  sister  had  objections,  founded  on  for- 
mer passages  in  their  family  history, of  which 
their  new  friends  were  but  partially  aware  ; 
and  to  Frascati,  accordingly,  the  two  Scotch 
pilgrims  were  drawn  with  them.  Colin 
having,  as  usual,  persevered  in  his  own  way, 
and  obtained  it,  as  Lauderdale  prophesied, 
the  arrangement  came  about,  naturally 
enough,  after  the  ten  days'  close  company  on 
board  ship,  when  young  Meredith,  whom 
most  people  were  either  contemptuous  of,  or 
inclined  to  avoid,  found  refuge  with  his  new 
friends,  who,  though  they  did  not  agree 
with  him,  at  least  understood  what  he  meant. 
He  slackened  nothing  of  those  exertions 
which  he  thought  to  be  his  duty, — and  on 
which,  perhaps  unconsciously,  the  young  in- 
valid rather  prided  himself,  as  belonging  to 
his  role  of  dying  man — during  the  remainder 
of  thei  voyage  ;  but,  finding  one  of  the  sailors 
ill,  succeeded  in  making  such  an  impression 
upon  the  poor  fellow's  uninstructed  and  un- 
certain mind  as  repaid  him,  he  said,  for  all 
the  exertions  he  had  made.  After  that  event, 
he  passed  by  very  often  to  the  forecastle  to 
pray  with  his  convert,  being,  perhaps,  dis- 
posed to  the  opinion  that  they  two  were  the 
salt  of  the  earth  to  their  small  community ; 
for  which  proceeding  he  was  called  fool,  and 
fanatic,  and  Methodist,  and  a  great  many 
pther  hard  names  by  the  majority  of  his  fel- 
low-passengers,— some  of  whom,  indeed,  be- 
ing, like  most  ordinary  people,  totally  unable 
to  discriminate  between  things  that  differ, 
confidently  expected  to  hear  of  some  secret 
vice  on  the  part  of  Meredith  ;  such  things 
being  always  found  out,  as  they  maintained, 
of  people  who  considered  themselves  better 
than  their  neighbors.  "  After  a  while,  it 
will  be  found  out  what  he's  up  to,"  said  a 
comfortable  passenger,  who  knew  the  world  ; 
"  such  fellows  always  have  their  private  pec- 
cadilloes. I  dare  say  he  don't  go  so  often  to 
the  forecastle  for  nothing.  The  stewardess 
aint  bad-looking,  and  I've  seen  our  saint  en- 
gaged in  private  conversation  when  he  didn't 
know  I  was  there,"  said  the  large-minded 
Christian  who  denounced  poor  Meredith's  un- 
charitableness.  And,  to  be  sure,  he  was  un- 
charitable, poor  fellow.     As  for  Colin,  and, 


129 

indeed,  Lauderdale  also,  who  had  been  at- 
tracted, in  spite  of  himself,  they  looked  on 
with  a  wonderful  interest,  from  amid-ships, 
knowing  better.  They  saw  him  dragging  his 
sister  after  him,  as  far  as  she  could  go,  along 
the  crowded  deck,  when  he  went  to  visit  his  pa- 
tient,— neither  he,  whose  thoughts  were  oc- 
cupied solely  with  matters  of  life  and  death, 
nor  she,  who  was  thinking  entirely  of  him, 
having  any  idea  that  the  dark  dormitory  be- 
low, among  the  sailors'  hammocks,  M'as  an 
unfit  place  for  her.  It  was  Colin  who  stepped 
forward  to  rescue  the  girl  from  this  unneces- 
sary trial,  and  Meredith  gave  her  up  to  him, 
with  as  little  idea  that  this,  too,  was  a  doubt- 
ful expedient,  as  he  had  had  of  anything  un- 
suitable in  his  original  intention.  "It  is  a 
privilege,  if  she  but  knew  it,"  the  invalid 
would  say,  fixing  his  hollow  eyes  on  her,  as 
if  half  doubtful  whether  he  approved  of  her 
or  not ;  and  poor  Alice  stayed  behind  him, 
with  a  bad  grace,  without  feeling  much  in- 
debted on  her  own  account  to  her  new  friends. 
"  It  does  not  matter  where  I  go,  so  long  as  I 
am  with  him,"  she  said,  following  him  with 
her  anxious  looks  ;  and  she  stopped  seated 
patiently  upon  her  bench,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  spot  where  he  had  disappeared,  until 
he  rejoined  her.  When  Arthur's  little 
prayer-meeting  was  ended,  he  came  with  a 
severe,  and  yet  serene,  countenance  towards 
the  sister  he  had  left  behind  him,  and  the 
two  friends  who  did  not  propose  to  accompa- 
ny him.  "  He  is  a  child  of  God,"  said  the 
sick  man  ;  "his  experiences  are  a  great  com- 
fort to  me  " — and  he  looked  with  a  little  de- 
fiance at  the  companions,  who,  to  be  sure,  so 
far  as  the  carnal  mind  was  concerned,  were 
moi-e  congenial  to  him.  Indeed,  the  new 
chapter  of  the  "  Voice  from  the  grave  "  was 
all  about  Lauderdale  and  Colin.  They  were 
described  under  the  initials  N.  and  M.,  with 
a  heightening  of  all  their  valuable  qualities, 
which  was  intended  to  make  more  and  more 
apparent  their  want  of  the  "  one  thing  need- 
ful." They  were  like  the  rich  young  man 
whom  Jesus  loved,  but  who  had  not  the  heart 
to  give  up  all  and  follow  him, — like  "  him 
who,  through  cowardice,  made  the  great  re- 
fusal." The  sick  man  wrote  without,  how- 
ever, quoting  Dante,  and  he  contrasted  with 
their  virtuous  and  thoughtful  worldlinesa 
the  condition  of  his  convert,  who  knew  noth- 
ing but  the  love  of  God,  poor  Meredith  said. 
Perhaps  it  was  true  that  the  sick  sailor  knew 


130 

the  love  of  God,  and  certainly  the  prayers  of 
the  dying  apostle  were  not  less  likely  to  reach 
the  ear  of  the  Divine  ^Majesty  for  being  ut- 
tered by  the  poor  fellow's  bedside.  But, 
though  he  wrote  a  chapter  in  his  book  about 
them,  Meredith  still  clung  to  his  friends. 
The  unseen  and  unknown  were  familiar  to  their 
thoughts, — perhaps  even  too  familiar,  being 
considered  by  them  as  reasonably  and  nat- 
urally interesting  ;  and  poor  JNIcredith  was 
disposed  to  think  that  anything  natural  must 
be  more  or  less  wicked.  JJut  still  he  con- 
sidered them  interesting,  and  thought  he 
might  be  able  to  do  them  good,  and,  for  his 
own  part,  found  all  the  human  comfort  he  was 
capable  of  iri  their  society.  Thus  it  was  that, 
with  mutual  companions  and  sympathy, — 
he  sorry  for  them  and  they  for  him,  and  mu- 
tual good  ofiBccs, — the  three  grew  into  friend- 
ship. As  for  Alice,  her  brother  was  fond  of 
her,  but  had  never  had  his  attention  special- 
ly attracted  to  her,  nor  been  led  to  imagine 
her  a  companion  for  himself.  She  was  his 
tender  little  nurse  and  attendant, — a  crea- 
ture made  up  of  loving,  watchful  eyes,  and 
anxious  little  noiseless  cares.  He  would  have 
missed  her  terribly,  had  she  failed  him, 
vithout  quite  knowing  what  it  was  he  missed, 
r.ut,  though  he  was  in  the  habit  of  instruct- 
ing her  now  and  then,  it  did  not  occur  to 
him  to  talk  to  his  sister.  She  was  a  creature 
of  another  species, — an  unawakcned  soul, 
with  few  thoughts  or  feelings  worth  speak- 
ing of.  At  least  such  was  the  estimate  her 
brother  had  formed  of  her,  and  in  which  Al- 
ice herself  agreed  to  a  great  extent.  It  was 
not  exactly  humility  that  kept  the  anxious 
girl  in  this  mind,  but  an  undisturbed  habit 
and  custom,  out  of  which  no  personal  impulse 
had  delivered  her.  The  women  of  her  kin- 
dred had  never  been  remarkable  one  way  or 
another.  They  were  good  women, — perfect- 
ly virtuous  and  a  little  tiresome,  as  even  Al- 
ice was  sensible  ;  and  it  had  not  been  the  cus- 
tom of  the  men  of  the  house  to  consult  or 
confide  in  their  partners.  Her  mother  and 
aunts  had  found  quite  enough  to  occupy  them 
in  housekeeping  and  needlework,  and  had  ac- 
cepted it  as  a  matter  of  faith  that  men,  ex- 
cept, perhaps,  when  in  love,  or  in  "a  pas- 
sion," did  not  care  to  talk  to  women, — a 
family  creed  from  which  so  young  and  sub- 
missive a  girl  had  not  dreamt  of  enfranchis- 
ing herself.  Accordingly,  she  accepted  quite 
calmly  Arthur's  low  estimate  of  her  powers 


A    SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 


of  companionship,  and  was  moved  by  no  in- 
jured feeling  when  he  sought  the  company 
•of  his  new  friends,  and  gave  himself  up  to  the 
pleasure  of  conversation.  It  was  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  to  Alice.  She 
kept  by  him,  holding  by  "his  arm  when  he 
and  his  companions  walked  about  the  deck 
together,  as  long  as  there  was  room  for  her  ; 
and  when  there  was  no  room,  she  withdrew 
and  sat  down  on  the  nearest  seat,  and  took 
out  a  little  bit  of  needlework  which  never 
made  any  progress  ;  for,  though  her  intellect 
could  not  do  Arthur  any  good,  the  anxious 
scrutiny  of  her  eyes  could, — or  at  least  she 
seemed  to  think  so.  Very  often,  it  was  true, 
she  was  joined  in  her  watch  by  Colin  ;  of 
whom,  however,  it  never  occurred  to  her  to 
think  under  any  other  possible  aspect  than 
that  of  Arthur's  friend.  Lauderdale  might 
have  spared  his  anxieties  so  far  as  that  went ; 
for,  notwithstanding  a  certain  proclivity 
on  the  part  of  Colin  to  female  friendship,  Al- 
ice was  too  entirely  unconscious,  too  utterly 
devoid  of  any  sense  or  feeling  of  self,  to  be 
interesting  to  the  young  man.  Perhaps  a 
certain  amount  of  self-regard  is  necessary  to 
attract  the  regard  of  others.  Alice  was  not 
awai-e  of  herself  at  all,  and  her  insensibility 
communicated  itself  to  her  silent  companion. 
He  sometimes  even  wondered  if  her  intelli- 
gence was  up  to  the  ordinary  level,  and  then 
felt  ashamed  of  himself  when  by  chance  she 
lifted  upon  him  her  wistful  eyes  ;  not  that 
those  eyes  were  astonishingly  bright,  or  con- 
veyed any  intimations  of  hidden  power, — 
but  they  looked,  as  they  were,  unawakened,. 
suggestive  eyes,  which  might  wake  up  at  any 
moment  and  develop  unthought-of  liglits. 
But,  on  the  whole,  this  twilight  was  too  dim 
to  interest  Colin,  except  by  moments  ;  and  it 
was  incomprehensible,  and  to  some  extent 
provoking  and  vexatious,  to  the  young  man, 
to  see  by  his  side  a  creature  so  young,  and 
with  so  many  natural  graces,  who  neutral- 
ized them  all  by  her  utter  indifference  to  her- 
self. 

So  that,  after  all,  it  came  to  be  a  very  nat- 
ural and  reasonable  step  to  accompany  the 
Merediths,  to  whose  knowledge  of  the  coun- 
try and  language  even  Lauderdale  found  him- 
self indebted  wlieu  suddenly  thrown  without 
warning  upon  the  tumultuous  crowd  of  Log- 
horn  boatmen,  which  was  his  first  foi'cign  ex- 
perience. "  They  all  understand  French,"  a 
benevolent  fellow-passenger  said,  as  he  went 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


on  before  them  ;  which  did  not  convey  the  con- 
solation it  was  intended  to  bear  to  the  two 
Scotch  travellers,  who  only  looked  at  each 
other  sheepishly,  and  laughed  with  a  very 
mixed  and  doubtful  sort  of  mirth,  not  liking 
to  commit  themselves.  They  had  to  give 
themselves  up  blindly  into  the  hands  of  IMere- 
dith  and  his  sister, — for  Alice  felt  herself  of 
some  importance  in  a  country  where  she 
"  knew  the  language," — and  it  was  altogeth- 
er in  the  train  of  these  two  that  Colin  and 
Lauderdale  were  dragged  along,  like  a  pair  of 
English  eaptives,  through  the  very  gates  of 
Rome  itself,  and  across  the  solemn  Campagna 
to  the  little  city  set  upon  a  hill,  to  which  the 
sick  man  was  bound.  They  made  their  way 
to  it  in  a  spring  afternoon  when  the  sun  was 
inclining  towards  the  west,  throwing  long 
shadows  of  those  long,  weird,  endless  arches 
of  the  Claudian  aqueduct  across  the  green 
wastes,  and  shining  full  upon  the  white  specks 
of  scattered  villages  on  theAlban  hills.  The 
landscape  would  have  been  impressive,  even 
had  it  conveyed  no  associations  to  the  minds 
of  the  spectators.  But,  as  the  reluctant 
strangers  left  Rome,  they  saw  unfold  before 
them  a  noble  semicircle  of  hills, — the  Sa- 
bines,  blue  and  mysterious,  on  one  side,  the 
Latin  range  breaking  bluntly  into  the  centre 
of  the  ring,  and  towards  the  right  hand  the 
softer  Alban  heights  with  their  lakes  hidden 
in  the  hollows,  and  the  sunshine  falling  full 
upon  their  crest  of  towns  ;  and,  when  they 
had  mounted  the  steep  ascent  to  Frascati,  it 
was  still  more  wonderful  to  look  back  and  see 
the  sunset  arranging  itself  over  that  great 
Campagna,  falling  into  broad  radiant  bands 
of  color  with  inconceivable  tints  and  shad- 
ings, betraying  in  a  gpdden  flash  the  distant 
sea,  and  shining  all  misty  and  golden  over 
the  dwarfed  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  which  rose 
up  by  itself  with  a  wonderful  insignificance  of 
grandeur, — all  Rome  around  being  blotted 
into  oblivion.  That  would  have  been  a  sight 
to  linger  over,  had  not  Meredith  been  weary 
and  worn  out,  and  eager  to  get  to  his  jour- 
ney's end.  "  You  will  see  it  often  enough," 
he  said,  with  a  little  petulance;  "neither 
the  sunset  nor  St.  Peter's  can  run  away  :  " 
for  it  was  to  himself  a  sufiiciently  familiar 
sight.  They  went  in  accordingly  to  a  large 
house,  which,  a  little  to  the  disappointment 
of  Colin,  was  just  as  square  and  ugly  as  any- 
thing he  could  have  found  at  home,  though 
it  stood  all  the  days  and  nights  gazing  with 


131 

many  eyes  over  that  Campagna  which  looked 
like  a  thing  to  dream  over  forever.  It  was 
the  third  story  of  this  house — tJie  upper  floor 
— to  which  Meredith  and  hia  sister  directed 
their  steps  ;  Colin  and  Lauderdale  following 
them,  not  without  a  little  expectation,  natu- 
ral enough  under  the  circumstances.  It  was 
cold,  and  they  were  tired,  though  not  so 
much  as  the  invalid  ;  and  they  looked  for  a 
bright  fire,  a  comfortable  room,  and  a  good 
meal, — with  a  little  curiosity,  it  is  true,  about 
the  manner  of  it,  but  none  as  to  the  blazing 
fire  and  spread  board  and  all  the  other  items 
indispensable  to  comfort,  according  to  English 
ideas.  The  room  where  they  got  admittance 
was  very  large,  and  full  of  windows,  letting 
in  a  flood  of  light,  which,  as  the  sunshine 
was  now  too  low  to  enter,  was  cold  light, — 
white,  colorless,  and  chilling.  Not  a  vestige 
of  carpet  was  on  the  tiled  floor,  except  before 
the  fireplace,  where  a  square  piece  of  a 
curious  coarse  fabric  and  wonderful  pattern 
had  been  laid  down.  A  few  logs  were  burn- 
ing on  the  wide  hearth,  and  close  by  was  a 
little  stack  of  wood  intended  to  replenish  the 
►fire.  The  great  desert  room  contained  a  world 
of  tables  and  four  uncushioned  chairs ;  but  the 
tired  travellers  looked  in  vain  for  the  spread 
board  which  had  pleased  their  imagination. 
If  Colin  had  thought  the  house  too  like  an 
,  ordinary  ugly  English  house  outside  to  satis- 
'  fy  him,  he  found  this  abundantly  made  "up 
for  now  by  the  interior,  so  unlike  anything 
English  ;  for  the  walls  were  iminted  with  a 
brilliant  landscape  set  in  a  frame  of  brilliant 
scarlet  curtains,  which  the  simple-minded  ar- 
tist had  looped  across  his  sky  vrithout  any 
hesitation  ;  and  underneath  this  most  gor- 
geous bit  of  fresco  was  set  a  table  against  the 
wall,  upon  which  were  spread  out  an  humble 
store  of  little  brown  rolls,  a  square  slice  of 
butter,  a  basin  full  of  eggs,  and  a  flask  of  oil, 
— the  humble  provisions  laid  in  by  the  attend- 
ant Maria,  who  had  rushed  forward  to  kiss 
the  young  lady's  hand  when  she  opened  the 
door.  While  the  two  inexperienced  Scotch 
travellers  stood  horror-stricken,  their  com- 
panions, who  were  aware  of  what  they  were 
coming  to,  threw  down  their  wraps  and  be- 
gan to  settle  themselves  in  this  extraordinary 
desert.  Meredith  for  his  part  threw  himself 
into  a  large  primitive  easy-chair  which  stood 
by  the  fire.  "This  is  a  comfort  I  did  not 
look  for,"  he  said;  "and,  thaak  Heaven, 
here  we  are  at  last."    Ho  drew  a  long  breath 


132 

of  satisfaction  as  he  stretched  out  his  long, 
meagre  limbs  before  the  fire.  "  Come  in  and 
make  yourselves  comfortable.  Alice  will  at- 
tend to  everything  else,"  he  said,  glaring 
back  at  his  annoyed  companions,  who,  find- 
ing themselves  in  some  degree  his  guests,  had 
to  subdue  their  feelings.  They  came  and  eat 
by  him,  exchanging  looks  of  dismay, — looks 
which,  perhaps,  he  perceived  ;  for  he  drew  in 
his  long,  languid  limbs,  and  made  a  little 
room  for  the  others.  "  Many  things,  of 
course,  that  are  necessary  in  our  severe  cli- 
mate are  unnecessary  here,"  he  said,  with  a 
slight  shiver ;  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  reached 
out  his  hand  for  one  of  the  wraps  he  had 
thrown  oflF,  and  drew  it  round  his  shoulders. 
That  action  gave  a  climax  to  the  universal 
discomfort.  Colin  and  Lauderdale  once  more 
looked  at  each  other  with  mutual  comments 
that  could  find  no  utterance  in  words, — the 
onl^  audible  expression  of  their  mutual  sen- 
timent being  an  exclamation  of  "  Climate  !  " 
from  the  latter  in  an  undertone  of  unspeak- 
able surprise  and  consternation.  This,  then, 
was  the  Italy  of  which  they  had  dreamed  ! 
The  mistress's  parlor  on  the  Holy  Loch  was 
words  could  not  tell  how  much  warmer  and 
more  genial.  The  tired  travellers  turned  to- 
wards the  fire  as  the  only  possible  gleam  of 
consolation,  and  Meredith  put  out  his  long, 
thin  arm  to  seize  another  log  ^^nd  place  it  on 
the  hearth  :  even  he  felt  the  difference.  He 
had  done  nothing  to  help  himself  till  he  came 
here  ;  but  habits  of  indulgence  dropped  off 
on  the  threshold  of  this  Spartan  dwelling. 
Colin  repeated  within  himself  Lauderdale's 
exclamation,  "  Climate  !  "  as  he  shivered  in 
his  chair.  No  doubt  the  invalid  chair  by  the 
fireside  on  the  banks  of  the  Holy  Loch  was  a 
very  different  thing,  as  far  as  comfort  was 
concerned. 

In  the  mean  time  Alice  found  herself  in 
command  of  the  position.  Humble  little  wo- 
man as  she  was,  there  came  by  moments,  even 
to  her,  a  compassionate  contempt  for  the  male 
creatures  who  got  hur^ry  and  sulky  after 
this  fashion,  and  could  only  sit  down  ill-tem- 
pered and  disconsolate  before  the  fire.  Alice, 
for  licr  part,  sent  off  Maria  to  the  trattoria, 
and  clieerfuUy  prepared  to  feed  the  creatures 
who  did  not  know  how  to  set  about  it  for 
themselves.  When  she  had  done  her  utmost, 
however,  there  was  still  a  look  of  dismay  on 
Cul ill's  face.  The  dinner  from  the  trattoria 
was  a  thing  altogether  foreign  to  the  experi- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


ences  of  the  two  Scotchmen.  They  suspected 
j  it  while  they  ate,  making  secret  wry  faces  to 
j  each  other  across  the  equivocal  board.  This 
j  was  the  land  of  poets  into  which  they  had 
come, — the  land  of  the  ideal  where,  according 
j  to  their  inexperienced  imaginations,  every- 
i  thing  was  to  share  the  general  refinement! 
But,  alas,  there  was  nothing  refined  about 
the  dinner  from  the  trattoria,  which  was  al- 
together a  native  production,  and  with  which 
the  Merediths,  being  acquainted  and  know- 
ing what  they  had  to  expect,  contented  them- 
selves well  enough.  When  Lauderdale  *and 
his  charge  retired,  chilled  to  the  bone,  to 
their  stony,  chilly  bedrooms,  where  every- 
thing seemed  to  convey  not  warmth  but  a 
sensation  of  freezing,  they  looked  at  each 
other  with  amazement  and  disgust  on  their 
faces.  "  Callant,  you  would  have  been 
twenty  times  better  at  home,"  said  Lauder- 
dale, with  a  remorseful  groan  ;  "  and,  as  for 
those  poor  innocents  who  have  nobody  to  look 
after  them — but  they  kent  what  they  were 
coming  to,"  he  continued,  with  a  flash  of 
momentary  anger.  Altogether  it  was  as  un- 
«uccessful  a  beginning  as  could  well  be  im- 
agined of  the  ideal  poetic  Italian  life. 

CHAPTER   XXX, 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  that,  except  in 
hotels  which  are  cosmopolitan,  and  chiefly 
adapted  to  the  many  wants  of  the  rich  Eng- 
lish, life  in  Italy  is  a  hard  business  enough 
for  the  inexperienced  traveller,  who  knows 
the  strange  country  into  which  he  has  sud- 
denly dropped  rather  by  means  of  poetical  leg- 
ends than  by  the  facts  of  actual  existence. 
A  country  of  vineyards  and  orange-groves, 
of  everlasting  verdure  agAsunshine  is,  indeed, 
in  its  way,  a  true  eqP|h  description  of  a 
many-sided  country :  but  these  words  of 
course  convey  no  intimation  of  the  terrors  of 
an  Italian  palace  in  the  depth  of  winter, 
when  everything  is  stone-cold,  and  the  possi- 
bilities of  artificial  warmth  are  of  the  most 
limited  description  ;  where  the  idea  of  doors 
and  windows  closely  fitting  has  never  entered 
the  primitive  mind,  and  where  the  cardinal 
virtue  of  patience  and  endurance  of  necessary 
evils  wraps  the  contented  native  sufferer  like 
tlie  cloak  which  he  hugs  round  him.  Yet,  not- 
withstanding, even  Lauderdale  relaxed  out 
of  the  settled  gloom  on  his  face  when  he 
went  to  the  window  of  the  great  bare  sitting- 
room  and  gazed  out  upon  the  grand  expanse 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


of  the  Campagna,  lighted  up  with  the  morn- 
ijg  sunshine.  The  silence  of  that  depopulat- 
ed plain,  with  its  pathetic  bits  of  ruin  here 
and  there, — ruins,  to  be  sure,  identified  and 
written  down  in  books,  but  for  themselves 
speaking,  with  a  more  \toful  and  suggestive 
voice  than  can  be  conveyed  by  any  historical 
associations,  through  the  very  depths  of  their 
dumbness  and  loss  of  all  distinction, — went 
to  the  spectator's  heart.  What  they  were  or 
had  been,  what  human  hands  had  erected  or 
human  hearts  rejoiced  in  them  their  linger- 
ing remains  had  ceased  to  tell ;  and  it  was 
only  with  a  vagueness  which  is  sadder  than 
any  story  that  they  indicated  a  former  forgot- 
ten existence,  a  past  too  far  away  to  be  deci- 
pherable. Lauderdale  laid  his  hand  on  Co- 
lin's  shoulder,  and  drew  him  away.  "  Ay, 
ay,"  he  said,  with  an  unusual  thrill  in  his 
voice,  "  it's  grand  to  hear  that  yon's  Soracte, 
and  thereaway  is  the  Sabine  country,  and 
that's  Eome,  lying  away  among  the  clouds. 
It's  no  Rome,  callant ;  it's  •  a  big  kirk,  or 
heathen  temple,  or  whatever  you  like  to 
call  it.  I'm  no  heeding  about  Rome.  It's 
the  awfu'  presence  of  the  dead,  and  the  skies 
smiling  at  them — that's  a'  I  see.  Come  away 
with  me,  and  let's  see  if  there's  ony  living 
creatures  left.  It's  an  awfu'  thought  to  come 
into  a  man's  head  in  connection  with  that 
bonnie  innocent  sky,"  the  philosopher  con- 
tinued, with  a  slight  shudder,  as  he  drew 
his  charge  with  him  down  the  chilly  stair- 
case ;  "  but  it's  aye  bewildering  to  one  to  see 
the  indifference  o'  Nature.  It's  terrible  like 
as  if  she  was  a  senseless  heathen  hersel',  and 
cared  nothing  about  nobody.  No  that  I'm 
asserting  that  to  be  the  case  ;  but  it's  grue- 
some to  look  at  her  smiles  and  her  wiles,  as 
if  she  kent  no  better.  I'm  no  addicted  to 
little  bairns  in  a  general  way,"  said  Lauder- 
dale, drawing  a  long  breath,  as  he  emerged 
from  the  great  door,  and  suddenly  found  him- 
self in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  ragged  little 
picturesque  savages ;  "  but  it's  aye  a  com- 
fort to  see  that  there's  still  living  creatures 
in  the  world." 

"  It  is  not  for  the  living  creatures,  however, 
that  people  come  to  Italy,"  said  Colin. 
"Stop  here  and  have  another  look  at  the 
Campagna.  I  am  not  of  your  opinion  about 
nature.  Sometimes  tears  themselves  are  less 
pathetic  than  a  smile." 

"Where  did  you  learn  that,  callant?" 
said  his  friend.     "  But  there's  plenty  of  time 


133 

for  the  Campagna,  and  I  have  aye  an  awfu' 
interest  in  human  folk.  What  do  the  little 
animals  mean,  raging  like  a  set  of  little  fu- 
ries? Laddies,  if  you've  quarrelled,  fight  it 
out  like  men  instead  of  scolding  like  a  par- 
cel of  fishwives,"  said  the  indignant  stranger, 
addressing  himself  to  a  knot  of  boys  who 
were  playing  mona.  When  he  found  his  re- 
monstrance disregarded,  Lauderdale  seized 
what  appeared  to  him  the  two  ringleaders, 
and  held  them,  one  in  each  hand,  with  the 
apparent  intention  of  knocking  their  heads 
together,  entirely  undisturbed  by  the  outcries 
and  struggles  of  his  victims,  as  well  as  by 
the  voluble  explanations  of  the  rest  of  the 
party.  "  It's  no  use  talking  nonsense  to 
me,"  said  the  inexorable  judge  ;  "  they  shall 
either  hold  their  tongues,  the  little  cowardly 
wretches,  or  they  shall  fi^t !  " 

It  was,  luckily,  at  this  moment  that  Alice 
Meredith  made  iier  appearance,  going  out  to 
provide  for  the  wants  of  her  family  like  a 
careful  little  housewife.  Her  explanation 
filled  Lauderdale  with  unbounded  shame  and 
dismay.  "  It's  an  awful  drawback  no  to 
understand  the  language  said  the  philoso- 
pher, with  a  rush  of  burning  color  to  his 
face  ;  for,  Lauderdale,  like  various  other  peo-. 
pie,  could  not  help  entertaining  an  idea,  in 
spite  of  his  better  knowledge,  that  English 
(or  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  English), 
spoken  with  due  force  and  emphasis,  was 
sure  in  the  end  to  be  perfectly  intelligible. 
Having  received  this  sad  lesson,  he  shrank 
out  of  sight  with  the  utmost  discomfiture, 
holding  Colin  fast,  who  betrayed  an  inclina- 
tion to  accompany  Alice.  "  This  will  never 
do  ;  we'll  have  to  put  to  our  hands  and 
learn,"  said  Colin 's guardian.  "  I  never  put 
much  faith  before  in  that  Babel  business. 
It's  awfu'  humbling  to  be  made  a  fool  of  by 
a  parcel  of  bairns."  Lauderdale  did  not  re- 
cover his  humiliating  defeat  during  the 
lengthened  survey  which  followed  of  the  lit- 
tle town  and  its  dependencies,  where  now  and 
then  they  encountered  the  slight  little  figure 
of  Alice  walking  alone,  with  a  freedom  per- 
mitted (and  wondered  at)  to  the  Signora  In- 
glese,  who  thus  declared  her  independence. 
They  met  her  at  the  baker's,  where  strings 
of  biscuits,  made  in  the  shape  of  rings,  hung 
like  garlands  about  the  door,  and  where  the 
little  Englishwoman  was  using  all  her  power 
to  seduce  the  master  of  the  shop  into  the 
manufacture  of  fane   Inghse,  bread    made 


134  A     SON    OF 

with  yeast  instead  of  leaven  ;  and  they  met 
her  again  in  the  dark  vicinity  of  the  trattoria, 
consulting  with  a  dingy  trailcur  about  din- 
ner. Fortunately  for  the  success  of  the  meal, 
the  strangers  were  unaware  that  it  was  out 
of  tliese  dingy  shades  that  their  repast  was 
to  come.  Tlius  the  two  rambled  about,  re- 
covering their  spirits  a  little  as  the  first  glow 
of  the  Italian  sunshine  stole  over  them,  and 
finding  summer  in  the  bright  piazza,  though 
winter  and  gloom  lingered  in  the  narrow 
streets.  Last  of  all  they  entered  the  cathe- 
dral, which  was  a  place  the  two  friends  ap- 
proached with  different  feelings.  Colin's 
mind  being  full  of  the  curiosity  of  a  man 
who  was  himself  to  be  a  priest,  and  who  felt 
to  a  certain  degree  that  the  future  devotions 
and  even  government  of  his  country  was  in 
his  hands,  he  was^^nsequently  quick  to  ob- 
serve, and  even,  notwithstanding  the  preju- 
dices of  education,  not  disinclined  to  learn, 
if  anything  worth  learning  was  to  be  seen  in 
the  quiet  country  church,  where  at  present 
nothing  beyond  the  ordinary  service  was  go- 
ing on.  Lauderdale,  in  whose  mind  a  lively 
and  animated  army  of  prejudices  was  in  full 
operation,  though  met  and  crossed  at  every 
turn  by  an  equally  lively  belief  in  the  truth 
of  his  fellow-creatures, — which  was  a  sad 
drawback  to  his  philosophy, — went  into  tlie 
Frascati  Cathedral  with  a  curious  mixture 
of  open  criticism  and  concealed  respect,  not 
unusual  in  a  Scotchman.  He  was  even 
ashamed  of  himself  for  his  own  alacrity  in 
taking  off  his  hat,  as  if  one  place  could  be 
holier  than  another  ;  yet,  nevertheless,  stowed 
his  gaunt,  gigantic  figure  away  behind  the 
pillars,  and  did  what  he  could  to  walk  softly, 
lest  he  should  disturb  the  devotions  of  one 
or  two  kneeling  women,  who,  however,  paused 
with  perfect  composure  to  look  at  the  sti'an- 
gers  without  apparently  being  conscious  of 
any  interruption.  As  for  Colin,  he  was  in- 
specting the  arrangements  of  the  cathedral 
at  his  leisure,  when  a  sudden  exclamation 
from  Lauderdale  attracted  his  attention.  He 
thought  his  friend  had  got  into  some  new  be- 
wilderment, and  hastened  to  join  him,  look- 
ing round  first,  with  the  helplessness  of  a 
speechless  stranger  in  a  foreign  country,  to 
830  if  there  were  any  one  near  who  could  ex- 
plain for  them  in  case  of  necessity.  When, 
however,  Colin  had  joined  his  friend,  he 
found  him  standing  rapt  and  silent  before  a 


THE    SOIL. 

tombstone  covered  with  lettering  which  was 
placed  against  the  wall  of  the  church.  Lau- 
derdale made  a  curious,  unsteady  sign,  point- 
ing to  it,  as  Colin  approached.  It  was  a 
pompous  Latin  inscription,  recording  imag- 
inary grandeurs  which  had  never  existed, 
and  bearing  the  names  of  three  British  kings 
who  never  reigned.  Neitiicr  of  the  specta- 
tors who  thus  stood  moved  and  speechless 
before  it  had  been  brought  up  with  any 
Jacobite  tendencies, — indeed,  Jacobite  ideas 
liad  died  out  of  all  reality  before  either  of 
them  was  born, — but  Lauderdale,  Whig  and 
sceptic  as  he  was,  uttered  hoarsely  out  of  his 
throat  the  two  words,  "  Prince  Chairlie  !  " 
and  then  stood  silent,  gazing  at  thv»  stone 
with  its  pompous  Latin  lies  and  its  sorrow- 
ful human  story,  as  if  it  had  been,  not  an  ex- 
tinct family,  but  something  of  his  own  blo<3d 
and  kindred  which  had  lain  underneath. 
Thus  the  two  strangers  went  out,  subdued  and 
silenced,  from  their  first  eight-seeing.  It  was 
not  in  man,  nor  in  Scotchman,  to  see  the 
names  and  not  remember  all  the  wonderful 
vain  devotion,  all  the  blind  heroic  efforts  that 
had  been  made  for  these  extinct  Stuarts  ;  and, 
with  a  certain  instinctive  loyalty,  reverential 
yet  protesting,  Colin  and  his  friend  turned 
away  from  Charles  Edward's  grave. 

"  Well,"  said  Lauderdale,  after  a  long 
pause,  "  they  were  little  to  brag  of,  either 
for  wisdom  or  honesty,  and  no  credit  to  us 
that  I  can  see  ;  but  it  comes  over  a  man  with 
an  awfu'  strange  sensation  to  fall  suddenly 
without  any  warning  on  the  grave  of  a  race 
that  was  once  in  such  active  connection  with 
his  own.  '  Jacobus  III.,  Carolus  III.,  Hcn- 
ricus  IX.' — is  that  how  it  goes?  It's  terri- 
ble real,  that  inscription,  though  it's  a'  a 
fiction.  They  might  be  a  feckless  race  ;  but, 
for  a'  that,  it  was  awfu'  hard,  when  you 
think  of  it,  upon'  Prince  Chairlie.  He  .was 
neither  a  fool  nor  a  liar,  so  far  as  I  ever 
heard, — which  is  more  than  you  can  say  for 
other  members  of  the  family  ;  and  he  had  to 
give  way,  and  give  up  his  birthright  for  the 
miserable  little  wretches  from  Hanover.  1 
dinna  so  much  wonder,  when  I  think  of  it, 
at  the  '45.  It  was  a  pleasant  alternative  for 
a  country,  callant,  to  choose  between  a  bit 
Dutch  idiot  that  knew  nothing,  and  the  son 
of  her  auld  kings.  I'm  no  speaking  of  Wil- 
liam of  Orange, — he's  awfu'  overrated,  and 
a  cold-blooded  demon,  but  aye  a  kind  of  a  man 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


notwithstanding, — but  thae  Hanover  fellows — 
And  6oy  on's  Prince  Chairlie's  grave  !  " 

Just  then  Meredith,  who  had  come  out  to 
bask  in  the  sunshine,  came  up  to  them,  and 
took,  as  he  had  learned  to  do  by  way  of  sup- 
porting himself,  Lauderdale's  vigorous   arm. 

"  I  forgot  to  toll  you,"  he  said,  "  that  the 
Pretender's  grave  was  there.  I  never  enter 
these  churches  of  Antichrist  if  I  can  help  it. 
Life  is  too  short  to  be  wasted  even  in  looking 
on  at  the  wiles  of  the  destroyer.  Oh  th^ 
we  could  do  something  to  deliver  these  dyi^ 
souls  !  " 

"  I  saw  little  of  the  wiles  of  the  destroyer 
for  my  part,"  said  Lauderdale,  abruptly  ; 
"and,  as  for  the  Pretender,  there's  many 
pretenders,  and  it's  awfu'  hard  to  tell  which 
is  real.  I  know  no  harm  of  Prince  Chairlie, 
the  little  I  do  know  of  him.  If  it  bad  been 
mysel',  I'm  no  free  in  my  mind  to  say  that  I 
would  have  let  go  my  father's  inheritance 
without  striking  a  blow." 

"  These  are  the  ideas  of  the  carnal  mind," 
said  Meredith.  "  Oh,  my  friend,  if  you 
would  but  be  more  serious  !  Does  not  your 
arrival  in  this  country  suggest  to  you  another 
arrival  which  cannot  be  long  delayed, — which 
indeed,  for  some  of  us  at  least,  may  happen 
any  day,"  the  sick  man  continued,  putting 
out  his  long,  thin  hand  to  clasp  that  of  Colin, 
who  was  on  the  opposite  side.  Lauderdale, 
who  saw  this  gesture,  started  aside  with  a 
degree  of  violence  which  prevented  the  meet- 
ing of  the  two  invalid  bands. 

"  I  know  little  about  this  country,"  he 
said,  almost  with  sullenness  ;  "  but  I  know 
still  less  about  the  other.  It's  easy  for  you, 
callants,  to  speak.  I'm  real  willing  to  make 
experiment  of  it,  if  that  were  possible,"  he 
continued,  softening  ;  "  but  there's  no  an 
ignorant  soul  hereabouts  that  is  more  igno- 
rant than  me."  • 

^'  Let  us  read  together, — let  us  consider  it 
together,"  said  Meredith  ;  "  it  is  all  set  down 
very  plain,  you  know.  He  that  runneth  may 
read.  In  all  the  world  there  is  nothing  so  im- 
portant. My  friend,  you  took  pains  to  under- 
stand about  Italy  '' — 

"  And  a  bonnie  business  I  made  of  it," 
said  Lauderdale;  "deluded  by  the  very 
bairns  ;  set  free  by  one  that's  little  more  than 
a  baiin,  that  iittle  sister  of  yours  ;  and  not 
letting  myself  be  drawn  into  discussions  ! 
I'm  tweatv  years,  or  near  it,  older  than  you 
are,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I've  walked  with 


135 

them  that  have  gone  away  yonder,  as  far  as 
flesh  and  blood  would  let  me.  I'm  no  mis- 
doubting anything  that's  written,  callant,  if 
that  will  satisfy  you.  It's  a'  an  awful,  dark- 
ness with  visions  of  white  angels  here  and 
there ;  but  the  angels  dinna  belong  to  me. 
Whisht — whisht, — I'm  no  profane ;  I'm  want- 
ing more, — more  than  what's  written;  and,  as 
I  cannot  get  that,  I  must  even  wait  till  I  see 
for  myself. — Here's  a  grand  spot  for  looking 
at  your  Campagna  now,"  he  said,  breaking 
abruptly  off;  but  poor  Meredith,  who  had 
so  little  time  to  spare,  and  whose  words  had 
to  be  in  season  and  out  of  season,  could  not 
consent  to  follow,  as  a  man  without  so  great 
a  mission  might  have  done,  the  leading  of 
his  companion's  thoughts. 

"  The  Campagna  is  very  interesting,"  he 
said,  "  but  it  is  nothing  to  the  safety  of  your 
soul.  Oh,  my  dear  friend!  —  and  here  is 
Campbell,  too,  who  is  not  far  from  the  king- 
dom of  heaven.  Promise  me  that  you  will 
come  with  me,"  said  the  dying  man.  "I 
shall  not  be  able  to  stay  long  with  you. 
Promise  me  that  you  will  come  and  join  me 
i/jere.' "  He  put  out  his  thin  arm,  and  raised 
it  toward  the  sky,  which  kept  smiling  always 
serene,  and  took  ngnote  of  these  outbursts  of* 
human  passion.  "  I  will  wait  for  you  at  the 
golden  gates,"  the  invalid  went  on,  fixing  his 
hollow  eyes  first  on  one  and  then  on  another, 
' '  You  will  be  my  joy  and  crown  of  rejoicing  ! 
You  cannot  refuse  the  prayer  of  a  dyid^ 
man." 

Colin,  who  was  young,  and  upon  whom 
the  shadow  of  these  golden  gates  was  still 
hovering,  held  out  his  hand  this  time, 
touched  to  the  heart.  "  I  am  coming,"  he 
said,  softly,  almost  under  his  breath,  but 
yet  loud  enough  to  catch  the  quick  ear  of 
Lauderdale,  whose  sudden  movement  dis- 
placed JMeredith's  arm,  which  was  clinging 
almost  like  a  woman's  to  his  own. 

"It's  no  for  a  man  to  make  any  such  un- 
founded promises,"  said  Lauderdale,  hoarse- 
ly ;  "  though  you  read  till  your  heart's  sick, 
there's  nothing  written  like  that.  It's  a' 
imaginations  and  yearnings  and  dreams. 
I'm  no  saying  that  it  cannot  be,  or  that  it 
will  not  be,  but  I  tell  you  there's  no  such 
thing  written ;  and  as  far  as  I  ken  or  you" 
ken,  it  may  be  a  delusion  and  disappoint- 
ment. Whisht,  whisht,  callants  !  Dinna 
entice  each  other  out  of  this  world,  where 
there's  aye  plenty  to  do  for  the  like  of  you. 


13G 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


I'm  saying, — 'Silence,  sir!'"  cried  the 
philosopher,  with  sudden  desperation.  And 
then  he  became  aware  that  he  had  withdrawn 
the  support  which  Meredith  stood  so  much 
in  need  of.  "  A  sober-minded  man  like  me 
should  have  other  company  than  a  couple  of 
laddies,  with  their  fancies,"  he  said,  in  a 
hurried,  apologetic  tone  ;  "  but,  as  long  as 
we're  together,  you  may  as  well  take  the 
good  of  me,"  he  added,  with  a  rare,  mo- 
mentary smile,  holding  out  his  arm.  As  for 
Meredith,  for  once  in  his  life, — partly  be-'- 
causc  of  a  little  more  emotion  than  usual, 
partly  because  his  weakness  felt  instantly 
the  withdrawal  of  a  support  which  had  be- 
come habitual  to  him, — he  felt  beyond  a  pos- 
sibility of  doubt  that  further  words  would  be 
out  of  season  just  at  that  moment,  and  so 
they  resumed  their  way  a  little  more  silently 
than  usual.  The  road,  like  other  Italian 
roads,  was  m,arked  by  here  and  there  a  rude 
shrine  in  a,  niche  in  the  wall,  or  a  cross 
erected  by  the  wayside, — neitlier  of  which 
objects  possessed  in  the  smallest  degree  the 
recommendation  of  picturesqueness  which 
sentimental  travellers  attribute  to  them  ;  for 
the  crosses  were  of  the  rudest  construction, 
as  rude  as  if  meant  for  q,ctual  use,  and  the 
poor  little  niches,  each  with  its  red-eyed  Ma- 
donna daubed  on  the  wall,  suggested  no  more 
idea  of  beauty  than  the  most  arbitrary  sym- 
bol could  have  done.  But  Meredith's  soul 
awoke  within  him  when  he  saw  the  looks 
with  which  Colin  regarded  these  shabby  em- 
blems of  religious  feeling.  The  Protestant 
paused  tol-egain  his  breath,  and  could  keep 
silence  no  more. 

"  You  look  with  interest  at  these  devices  of 
Antichrist,"  said  the  sick  man.  "  You  think 
they  promote  a  love  of  beauty,  1  suppose,  or 
you  tliink  them  picturesque.  You  don't 
think  how  they  ruin  the  souls  of  those  who 
trust  in  them,"  he  said,  eagerly  and  loudly  ; 
for  they  were  passing  another  English  party, 
which  was  at  the  moment  engaged  in  contem- 
plating the  cross,  without  much  apparent 
admiration,  and  already  the  young  mission- 
ary longed  to  accost  them,  and  put  the  sol- 
emn questions  about  life  and  death  to  their 
(pi'esumably)  careless  souls. 

"  They  don't  appear  to  me  at  all  pictur- 
esque," said  Colin;  "and  nobody  looks  at 
them  that  I  can  see  except  ourselves  ;  so  they 
can't  ruin  many  souls.  But  you  and  I  don't 
agree  in  all  things,  Meredith.      I  like  the 


cross,  you  know.  It  does  not  seem  to  me  to 
come  amiss  anywhere.  Perhaps  the  uglier 
and  ruder  it  is  it  becomes  the  more  suggest- 
ive," the  young  man  added,  with  a  little 
emotion.  "I  should  like  to  build  a  few 
crosses  along  our  Scotch  roads  ;  if  anybody  , 
was  moved  to  pray,  I  can't  see  what  harm 
would  be  done  ;  or,  if  anybody  was  surprised 
by  a  sudden  thought,  it  might  be  all  the  bet- 
ter even  ;  one  has  heard  of  such  a  thing," 
£aid  Colin,  whose  heart  was  still  a  little  out 
y  its  usual  balance.  "  A  stray  gleam  of 
sunshine  might  come  out  of  it  here  and  there. 
If  I  was  rich  like  some  of  you  merchants, 
Lauderdale,"  he  said,  laughing  a  little,  "I 
think,  instead  of  a  few  fine  dinners,  I'd  build 
a  cross  somewhere.  I  don't  see  that  it  would 
come  amiss  on  a  Scotch  road  " — 

"  I  wish  you  would  think  of  something 
else  than  Scotch  roads,"  said  Meredith,  with 
a  little  vexation  ;  "  when  I  speak  of  things 
that  concern  immortal  souls,  you  answer  me 
something  about  Scotland.  AYhat  is  Scot- 
land to  the  salvation  of  a.  fellow-creature? 
I  would  rather  that  Scotland,  or  England 
either,  was  sunk  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea 
than  stand  by  and  see  a  man  dying  in  his 
sins." 

The  two  Scotchmen  looked  at  each  othei 
as  he  spoke  ;  they  smiled  to  each  other  with 
a  perfect  understanding,  which  conveyed 
another  pang  of  irritation  to  the  invalid,  who 
by  nature  had  a  spirit  which  insisted  upon 
being  first  and  best  beloved.  "You  see," 
said  Lauderdale,  who  had  entirely  recovered 
his  composure,  "  this  callant,  innocent  as  he 
looks,  has  a  consciousness  within  him  that 
Scotland's  his  kingdom.  His  meaning  is  to 
mould  his  generation  with  these  feckless 
hands  of  his.  It's  a  ridiculous  aspiration," 
continued  Colin's  guardian,  "  but  that  makes 
it  a'  the  more  likel^? :  he's  thinking  what  hjdll 
do  when  he  comes  into  his  kingdom.^ I 
wouldna  say  but  he  would  institute  decora- 
tions, and  give  crosses  of  honor  like  ony 
other  potentate.  That's  what  the  callant 
means,"  said  his  friend,  with  pride  which 
was  very  imperfectly  hidden  by  his  pretended 
sarcasm, — a  speech  which  only  made  Mere- 
dith more  impatient,  and  to  which  he  had  no 
clew.  "  I  think  we'd  better  go  home,"  he 
said,  abruptly.  "  I  know  Scotch  pretty  well, 
but  can't  quite  follow  when  you  speak  on 
these  subjects.  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with 
Maria  about  her  brother,  who  used   to  be 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


very  religiously  disposed.  Poor  fellow,  he's 
ill  now,  and  I've  got  something  for  him," 
said  the  young  man.  Here  he  paused,  and 
drew  forth  from  his  pocket  a  sheet  folded 
like  a  map,  which  he  opened  out  carefully, 
Jjoking  first  to  see  that  there  was  nobody  on 
the  road.  "  They  took  them  for  maps  at  the 
dogana,"  said  Meredith  ;  "  and  geogi'aphy  is 
not  prohibited, — to  the  English  at  least ;  but 
this  is  better  than  geography.  I  mean  to 
send  it  to  poor  Antonio,  who  can  read,  poor 
fellow."  The  map,  which  was  no  map,  con- 
sisted of  a  large  sheet  of  paper,  intended  ap- 
parently to  be  hung  upon  a  wall,  and  con- 
taining the  words,  "  Come  unto  me  all  ye 
that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,"  translated 
into  Italian.  It  was  not  without  a  little  tri- 
umph that  Meredith  exhibited  this  effort  at 
clandestine  instruction.  "  He  has  to  lie  in 
bed,"  he  said,  with  a  softened  inflection  of 
his  voice  ;  "  this  will  console  him  and  bear 
him  company.  It  is  a  map  of  his  future  in- 
heritance," the  young  missionary  concluded, 
putting  it  fondly  back  into  its  deceitful  folds  ; 
and  after  this  there  was  an  uneasy  pause, 
no  one  quite  knowing  what  to  say. 
f  "  You  fight  Antichrist  with  his  own  weap- 
ons, then,"  said  Colin,  "  and  do  evil  that 
■good  may  come," — and  Lauderdale  added 
his  comment  almost  in  the  same  breath, — 

"  That's  an  awfu'  fruitful  principle  if  you 
once  adopt  it,"  he  said  ;  "  there's  no  telling 
where  it  may  end.  I  would  sooner  leave 
the  poor  lad  in  God's  hands,  as  no  doubt  he 
is,  than  smuggle  in  light  to  him  after  that 
fashion.  I'm  no  fond  of  maps  that  are  no 
maps,"  said  the  dissatisfied  critic  ;  by  which 
time  Colin  had  reloaded  his  guns,  and  was 
ready  to  fire. 

"  It  is  short  enough,"  said  Colin  ;  "  a  man 
might  keep  such  an  utterance  in  his  mem- 
ory wjthout  any  necessity  for  double  dealing. 
Do  you  think,  for  all  the  good  it  will  do  your 
patient  to  look  at  that  text,  it  is  worth  your 
while  to  risk  him  and  yourself?  " 

"  For  myself  I  am  perfectly  indifferent," 
said  Meredith,  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  de- 
fend himself.  •  "  I  hope  I  could  take  impris- 
onment joyfully  for  the  saving  o£  a  soul." 

"  Imprisonment  would  be  death  to  you," 
B.id  Colin,  with  a  touch  of  compunction, 
"  and  would  make  an  end  of  all  further  pos- 
sibilities of  use.  To  be  thrown  into  a  stony 
Italian  prison  at  this  season  " — 


137 

"Hush,"  said  Meredith;  "for  my  Mas- 
ter's sake  could  I  not  bear  more  than  that  ? 
If  not,  I  am  not  worthy  to  call  myself  a 
Christian.  I  am  ready  to  be  offered,"  said 
the  young  enthusiast.  "  It  would  be  an  end 
beyond  my  hopes  to  die  like  my  Lord  for  the 
salvation  of  my  brother.  Such  a  prophecy 
is  no  terror  to  me." 

"  If  you  two  would  but  hold  your  tongues 
for  five  minutes  at  a  time,"  said  Lauderdale, 
with  vexation,  "  it  would  be  a  comfort.  No 
doubt  you're  both  ready  enough  to  fling  away 
your  lives  for  any  nonsensical  idea  that  comes 
into  your  heads.  Suppose  we  take  the  case 
of  the  other  innocent  callant,  the  Italian  lad 
that  a'  this  martyrdom's  to  be  for.  No  to 
say  that  it's  awfu'  cheating, — which  my  soul 
loathes,"  said  the  emphatic  Scotchman, — 
"  figure  to  yourself  a  wheen  senseless  women 
maybe,  or  a  wheen  frightened  priests,  getting 
on  the  scent  o'  this  heresy  of  yours.  I'm 
real  reluctant  to  thin^  that  he  would  not  get 
the  same  words,  poor  callant,  in  his  ain 
books  without  being  torn  to  pieces  for  the 
sake  of  a  map  that  was  not  a  map.  It's  get- 
ting a  wee  chilly,"  said  the  philosopher, 
"  and  there's  a  fire  to  be  had  in  the  house  if 
nothing  else.  Come  in,  callant,  and  no  ex- 
pose yourself;  and  you  would  put  your 
grand  map  in  the  fire  if  you  were  to  be  guided 
by  me." 

"  With  these  words  of  consolation  on  it !  " 
said  Meredith.  "  Never,  if  it  should  cost  me 
my  life." 

"  Nae  fear  of  its  costing  you  your  life ; 
but  I  wouldna  use  even  the  weapons  of  God 
after  the  devil's  manner  of  fighting,"  said 
Lauderdale,  with  a  little  impatience.  "Allow- 
ing you  had  a'  the  charge  of  saving  souls,  as 
you  call  it,  and  the  Almighty  himself  took 
no  trouble  on  the  subject,  I'jn  no  for  using 
the  sword  o'  the  Spirit  to  give  stabs  in  the 
dark." 

Just  then,  fortunately,  there  came  a  sea- 
sonable diversion,  which  stayed  the  answer 
on  Meredith's  lips. 

"  Arthur,  we  are  going  to  dine  early,'  said 
the  voice  of  Alice  just  behind  them ;  "  the 
doctor  said  you  were  to  dine  early.  Come 
and  rest  a  little  before  dinner.  I  met  some 
people  just  now  who  were  talking  of  Mr. 
Campbell.  They  were  wondering  where  he 
lived,  and  saying  they  had  seen  him  some- 
where.    I  told  them  you  were  with  us,"  the 


138 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


girl  went  on,  with  the  air  of  a  woman  who 
might  be  Colin 's  mother.  "  Will  you  please 
come  home  in  case  they  should  call?  " 

This  unexpected  intimation  ended  the  ram- 
ble and  the  talk,  which  was  of  a  kind  rather 
different  from  the  tourist  talk  which  Colin 
had  shortly  to  experience  from  the  lips  of  his 
visitors,  who  were  people  who  had  seen  him 
at  Wodensbourne,  and  who  were  glad  to 
claim  acquaintance  with  anybody  in  a  strange 
country.  Little  Alice  received  the  ample 
English  visitors  still  with  the  air  of  being 
Colin 's  mother,  or  mature  protecting  female 
friend,  and  talked  to  the  young  lady  daugh- 
ter, who  was  about  half  as  old  again  as  her- 
self with  an  indulgent  kindness  which  was 
beautiful  to  behold.  There  were  a  mother, 
father,  daughter,  and  two  sons,  moving  about 
in  a  compact  body,  all  of  whom  were  ex- 
ceedingly curious  about  the  quaint  little 
brotherhood  which,  with  Alice  for  its  pro- 
tecting angel,  had  taken  possession  of  the 
upper  floor  of  the  Palazzo 'Savvielli.  They 
VFcre  full  of  a  flutter  of  talk  about  the  places 
they  had  visited,  and  of  questions  as  to 
whether  their  new  acquaintances  had  been 
here  or  there  ;  and  the  ladies  of  the  party 
made  inquiries  after  the  Frankland  family, 
with  a  friendly  significance  which  brought 
the  blood  to  Colin 's  cheeks.  "  I  promised 
Matty  to  write,  and  I  shall  be  sure  to  tell 
her  I  have  seen  you,  and  all  about  it,''  the 
young  lady  said,  playfully.  Was  it  possible, 
or  was  it  a  mere  reflection  from  his  own 
thoughts,  throwing  a  momentary  gleam 
across  her  unimpassioned  face?  Anyhow,  it 
occurred  to  Colin  that  the  little  abstract 
Alice  looked  more  like  an  ordinary  girl  of 
her  years  for  the  five  minutes  after  the  tour- 
ist party,  leaving  wonderful  silence  and 
sense  of  relief  behind  them,  had  disappeared 
down  the  chilly  stone  stairs. 

CHAPTER   XXXI. 

It  is  not. to  be  inferred  from  what  has  just 
been  said  that  it  had  become  a  matter  of  im- 
portance to  Colin  how  Alice  Meredith  looked. 
On  the  contrary,  the  relations  between  the 
two  young  people  grew  more  distant  instead 
of  becoming  closer.  It  was  Lauderdale  with 
whom  she  talked  about  the  domestic  arrange- 
ments, which  he  and  she  managed  together  ; 
and  indeed  it  was  apparent  tiiat  Alice,  on 
the  whole,  had  come  to  regard  Colin,  in  a 
modified  degree,  as  she  regarded  her  brother 


— as  something  to  be  taken  care  of,  watched, 
fed,  tended,  and  generally  deferred  to,  with- 
out any  great  possibility  of  comprehension 
or  fellowship.  Lauderdale,  like  herself, 
was  the  nurse  and  guardian  of  his  invalid. 
Though  she  lost  sight  of  him  altogether  in 
the  discussions  which  perpetually  arose 
among  the  three  (which  was  not  so  much 
from  being  unable  to  understand  tlieee  dis- 
cussions as  from  the  conclusion  made  before- 
hand that  she  had  nothing  to  do  with 
them),  it  was  quite  a  diflerent  matter  when 
they  fell  into  the  background  to  consult 
what  would  be  best  for  their  two  charges. 
Then  Alice  was  the  superior,  and  felt  her 
power.  She  talked  to  her  tall  companion 
with  all  the  freedom  of  her  age,  accepting 
his  as  that  of  a  grandfather  at  least,  to  the 
amusement  of  the  philosopher,  to  whom  her 
chatter  was  very  pleasant.  All  the  history 
of  her  family  (as  he  imagined)  came  una- 
wares to  Lauderdale's  ears  in  this  simple 
fashion,  and  more  of  Alice's  own  mind  and 
thoughts  than  she  had  the  least  idea  of. 
lie  walked  about  with  her  as  the  lion  might 
have  done  with  Una,  with  a  certain  mixture 
of  superiority  and  inferiority,  amusement 
and  admiration.  She  was  only  a  little  girl 
to  Lauderdale,  but  a  delightsome  thing  in 
her  innocent  way  ;  and,  so  far  from  approv- 
ing of  Colin's  indifference,  there  were  times 
when  he  became  indignant  at  it,  speculating 
impatiently  on  the  youthful  folly  which  did 
not  recognize  good  fortune  when  it  saw  it. 
"  Of  all  women  in  the  world  the  wife  for  the 
callant,  if  he  only  would  make  use  of  his 
ecn,"  Lauderdale  said  to  himself;  but  so  far 
from  making  use  of  his  eyes,  it  pleased  Colin, 
with  the  impertinence  of  youth,  to  turn  the 
tables  on  his  mentor,  and  to  indulge  in  un- 
seasonable laughter,  which  sometimes  had  all 
but  offended  the  graver  and  older  man. 
Alice,  however,  whose  mind  was  bent  upon 
other  things,  was  none  the  wiser,  and  for  her 
own  part  found  "  Mr.  Lauderdale  "  of  won- 
derful service  to  her.  When  they  sat  mak- 
ing up  their  accounts  at  the  end  of  the  week, 
xVlice  with  her  little  pencil  putting  every- 
thing down  in  pauls  and  scudi,  which  Lau- 
derdale elaborately  did  into  English  money 
as  a  preliminary  to  the  exact  division  of  ex 
penses  which  the  two  careful  housekeepers 
made,  the  sight  was  pleasant  enougli.  By 
times  it  occurred  that  Alice,' dreadfully  puz- 
zled by  her  companion's  Scotch,  but  bound 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


139 


in  chains  of  iron  by  her  good  breeding, 
which  coming  direct  from  the  heart  was  of 
Ao  niost  exquisite  type,  came  stealing  up  to 
Colin,  after  a  long  interview  with  his  friend, 
to  ask  the  meaning  of  a  word  or  two  pre- 
served by  painful  mnemonic  exercises  in  her 
memory  ;  and  she  took  to  reading  the  Wa- 
verley  novels  by  way  of  assisting  her  in  this 
new  language  ;  but,  as  the  only  available 
copies  of  these  works  were  in  the  sliape  of 
an  Italian  translation,  it  may  be  imagined 
that  her  progress  was  limited.  Meanwhile, 
Meredith  lived  on  as  best  he  could,  poor  fel- 
low, basking  in  the  sun  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  and  the  rest  of  his  time  sitting  close  to 
the  fire  with  as  many  pillows  and  cloaks  in 
his  hard,  old-fashioned  easy-chair  as  might 
have  sufiiced  for  Siberia  ;  and,  indeed,  it  was 
a  kind  of  Siberian  refuge  which  they  had  set 
up  in  the  top  floor  of  the  empty  cold  palace, 
the  other  part  of  which  was  used  for  a  resi- 
dence only  during  the  hot  season,  and  adapt- 
ed to  the  necessities  of  a  blazing  Italian  sum- 
mer. For  the  Italian  winter, — often  so  keen 
and  penetrating,  with  its  cutting  winds  that 
come  from  the  mountains,  and  those  rapid 
and  violent  transitions  which  form  the  shad- 
ow to  its  sunshine, — there,  as  elsewhere, 
little  provision  had  been  made  ;  and  the  sur- 
prise of  the  inexperienced  travellers,  who 
had  come  there  for  warmth  and  the  genial 
atmosphere,  and  found  themselves  suddenly 
plunged  into  a  life  of  Spartan  endurance, — 
of  deadly  chill  and  iciness  indescribable, — 
has  been  already  described.  Yet  neither  of 
them  would  consent  to  go  into  Rome,  where 
comfort  might  be  had  by  paying  for  it,  and 
leave  the  brother  and  sister  alone  in  this 
chilly  nest  of  theirs.  So  they  remained 
together  on  their  lofty  perch,  looking  over 
the  great  Campagna,  witnessing  such  sun- 
sets and  grandness  of  cloud  and  wind  as  few 
people  are  privy  to  all  their  lifetime  ;  watch- 
ing the  gleam's  of  snow  appear  and  disappear 
over  the  glorious  purple  depths  of  the  Sabine 
hills,  and  the  sun  shooting  golden  arrows  into 
the  sea,  and  gloom  more  wonderful  still  than 
the  light,  rolling  on  like  an  army  in  full  march 
over  that  plain  which  has  no  equal.  All 
these  things  they  watched  and  witnessed, 
with  comments  of  all  descriptions,  and  with 
silence  better  than  any  comment.  In  them- 
selves they  were  a  strange  little  varied  com- 
pany ;  one  of  them,  still  in  the  middle  of  life, 
but  to  his  own  cousciousness  done  with  it,  | 


and  watching  the  present  actors  as  he  watched 
the  sunsets  ;  two  of  them  entirely  full  of 
undeveloped  prospects  in  the  world  which 
was  so  familiar  and  yet  so  unknown  ;  the 
last  of  all  making  his  way  steadily  with  few 
delays  into  a  world  still  more  unknown, — a 
world  which  they  all  by  times  turned  to  in- 
vestigate. With  spcculatijns,  with  questions, 
with  enthusiastic  anticipation,  with  profound 
childlike  faith.  Such  was  their  life  up 
among  the  breezes  across  the  soft  slopes  of 
the  Alban  hills  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  every- 
thing more  serious,  of  opening  life  and  ap- 
proaching death,  Lauderdale  and  Alice  sat 
down  together  weekly  to  reckon  up  their  ex- 
penses in  Italian  and  English  money,  and 
keep  their  accounts  straight,  as  the  little 
house-wife  termed  it,  with  the  world. 

During  this  wintry  weather,  however,  the 
occupations  of  the  party  were  not  altogether 
limited  to  these  weekly  accounts.  Meredith, 
though  he  had  been  a  little  startled  by  the 
surprise  shownOy  his  companion  at  the  too 
ingenious  device  of  the  map, — which,  after  all 
was  not  his  device,  but  that  of  some  Tract 
Society,  or  other  body  more  zealous  than 
scrupulous, — had  not  ceased  his  warnings,  in 
season  and  out  of  season.  He  talked  to 
Maria  about  dying,  in  a  way  which  inspired 
that  simple  woman  to  the  unusual  exertion 
of  a  pilgrimage  to  Tivoli,  where  the  kind  Ma- 
donna had  just  been  proved  upon  ample  testi- 
mony to  have  moved  her  eyes,  to  the  great  com- 
fort and  edification  of  the  faithful.  "  No 
doubt,  it  would  be  much  better  to  be  walking 
about  all  day  among  the  blessed  saints  in  heav- 
en, as  the  Signor  Arturo  gives  himself  the 
trouble  of  telling  me,"  Maria  said,  with  anxie- 
ty in  her  face,  "  but  vedi,  cara  signorina  mia, 
it  would  be  very  inconvenient  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  season  ;"  and,  indeed,  the  same 
opinion  was  commonly  expressed  by  Arthur's 
Italian  auditors,  who  had,  for  the  most  part, 
affairs  on  hand,  which  did  not  admit  of  im- 
mediate attention  to  such  a  topic.  Even 
the  good-natured  friars  at  Cape  Cross  declin- 
ed to  tackle  the  young  Englishman  after  the 
first  accost :  for  they  were  all  of  opinion  that 
dying  was  business  to  be  got  over  in  the  most 
expeditious  manner  possible,  not  to  be  dwelt 
on  either  by  unnecessary  anxiousness  before 
or  lingering  regret  alter  ;  and,  as  for  the  in- 
evitable event  itself,  there  were  the  last  sacra- 
ments to  make  all  right — though,  indeed, 
the  English  invalid,  povero   infelice,  might 


140 

well  make  a  fuss  about  a  matter  which  must 
be  60  hopeless  to  him.  This  was  all  tiie  fruit 
he  had  of  liis  labors,  there  being  at  that  time 
no  enterprising  priest  at  hand  to  put  a  stop 
to  the  discussions  of  .  the  heretic.  But,  at 
the  same  time,  he  had  Colin  and  Lauderdale 
close  at  hand,  and  was  using  every  means  in 
his  power  to  "  do  them  good,"  as  he  said  ; 
and  still,  in  the  quiet  nights,  when  the  cold 
and  the  silenec  had  taken  entire  possession  of 
the  great,  vacant  house  and  tiie  half-frozen 
village,  poor  Meredith  dragged  his  chair  and 
his  table  closer  to  the  lire,  and  drew  his 
cloak  over  his  shoulders,  and  added  yet 
another  and  another  chapter  to  his  "  Voice 
from  the  Grave." 

As  for  Colin,  if  he  had  been  a  litterateur 
by  profession,  it  is  likely  that,  by  this  time, 
he  would  have  begun  to  compile  "  Letters 
from  Italy,"  like  others  of  the  trade  ;  but  be- 
ing only  a  Scotch  scholar,  the  happy  holder  of 
a  Snell  bursary,  he  felt  himself  superior  to 
such  temptations ;  thoughjSndeed,  after  a 
week's  residence  at  Frascati,  Colin  secretly 
felt  himself  in  a  condition  to  let  loose  his 
opinions  about  Italian  affairs  in  general.  In 
the  mean  time,  however,  he  occupied  himself 
in  another  fashion.  Together,  he  and  his 
watchful  guardian  made  pilgrimages  into 
Rome.  They  went  to  see  everything  that  it 
was  right  to  go  to  see :  but  over  and  above 
that,  they  went  into  the  churches, — into  all 
manners  of  churches  out  of  the  way,  where 
there  were  no  grand  functions  going  on,  but 
only  every-day  worship.  Colin  was  not  a 
watchful  English  divine  spying  upon  the  su- 
perstition of  Rome,  nor  a  rampant  Protestant 
finding  out  her  errors  and  idolatries.  He  was 
the  destined  priest  of  a  nation  in  a  state  of  tran- 
sition and  renaissance,  which  had  come  to 
feel  itself  wanting  in  the  balance  after  a  long 
period  of  self-complacency.  With  the  in- 
stinct of  a  budding  legislator  and  the  eager- 
ness of  youth,  he  watched  the  wonderful 
scene  he  had  before  him, — not  the  pope,  with 
his  peacock  feathers,  and  purple  and  scarlet 
followers,  and  wonderful  audience  of  heretics, 
— not  high  masses  in  great  basilicas,  nor  fine 
processions,  nor  sweet  music.  The  two 
Scotsmen  made  part  of  very  different  assem- 
blies in  those  Lenten  days,  and  even  in  the 
joyful  time  of  Easter,  when  carriages  of  the 
English  visitors,  rushing  to  the  ceremonies  of 
the  week,  made  the  narrow  Roman  streets 
almost  impassable.     Perhaps  it  was  a  feeling 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


of  a  different  kind  which  drew  the  two  stran" 
gers  to  the  awful  and  solemn  temple,  where 
once  the  heathen  gods  were  worshipped,  ^|^ 
where  Raphael  rests  ;  but  let  artists  pard^ 
Colin,  whose  own  profession  has  apsociations 
still  more  lofty  than  theirs,  if,  5n  his  second 
visit,  he  forgot  Raphael,  and  even  the  austere 
nobility  of  the  place.  An  humble  congrega- 
tion of  the  commonest  people  about, — people 
not  even  picturesque, — women  with  shawls 
over  their  heads,  and  a  few  of  the  dreamy 
poor  old  men  who  seem  to  spend  their  lives 
about  Italian  churches,  were  dotted  over  the 
vast  floor,  kneeling  on  those  broken  marbles 
which  are  as  old  as  Christianity, — some 
dropped  at  random  in  the  middle,  beneath  the 
wonderful  blue  breadth  of  sky  which  looked 
in  upon  their  devotions,  some  about  the  steps 
of  the  little  altars  round,  and  a  little  group 
about  the  special  shrine  where  vespers  were 
being  sung.  A  lover  of  music  would  not 
have  found  a  voice  wortli  listening  to  in  the 
place,  and  perhaps  neither  time  nor  tune  was 
much  attended  to  ;  but  there  was  not  a  soul 
there,  from  the  faint  old  men  to  the  little  chil- 
dren, who  did  not,  according  to  his  capabilities, 
take  up  the  response,  which  was  to  every 
one,  apparently,  matter  as  familiar  as  an 
every-day  utterance.  These  worshippers 
had  no  books,  and  did  not  need  any.  It 
might  be  words  in  a  dead  language  ;  it  might 
j  be  partially  understood,  or  not  understood  at 
!  all  ;  but  at  least  it  was  known  and  familiar 
as  no  religious  service  is  in  England,  notwith- 
standing all  our  national  vaunt  of  the  prayer- 
book,  and  as  nothing  could  be  in  Scotland, 
where  we  have  no  guide  (save  "  the  minis- 
ter") to  our  devotion.  When  Colin,  still 
weak  and  easily  fatigued,  withdrew  a  little, 
and  sat  down  upon  the  steps  of  the  high  altar 
to  listen,  with  a  kind  of  shame  in  his  heart  at 
being  unable  to  join  those  universal  devo- 
tions, there  came  to  his  ear  a  wonderful  chime 
of  echoes  from  the  great  dome,  which  sent 
his  poetic  heart  astray  in  spite  of  itself;  for 
j  it  sounded  to  the  young  dreamer  like  another 
I  unseen  choir  up  there,  who  could  tell  of 
what  spectators  and  assistants'? — wistful 
voices  of  the  past,  coming  back  to  eclio  the 
Name  which  was  greater  than  Jove  or  Apollo. 
And  then  he  returned  to  his  legislative 
thoughts,  to  his  dreams,  patriotic  and  priest- 
ly, to  his  wondering,  incredulous  question  with 
himself  whether  worship  so  familiar  and 
so  general,  so  absolutely  a  part  of  their  daily 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


existence,  could  ever  be  known  to  his  own 
people.  Such  a  thought,  no  doubt,  had  it 
been  known,  would  almost  have  warranted 
the  withdrawal  of  the  Snell  scholarship,  and 
certainly  would  have  deferred  indefinitely  Co- 
lin's  chances  of  obtaining  license  from  any 
Scotch  Presbytery.  But,  fortunately,  Presby- 
terians are  little  interested  in  investigating 
what  takes  place  in  the  Pantheon  at  Rome — 
whether  old  Agrippa  breathes  a  far-off  Amen 
out  of  the  dome  of  his  dead  magnificence,  to 
the  worship  of  the  Nazarene,  as  Colin  thought 
in  his  dreams  ;  or  what  vain  imaginations 
may  possess  the  soul  of  a  wandering  student 
there.  He  was  aroused  abruptly  out  of  these 
visions  by  the  English  party  who  had  visited 
him  at  Frascati,  and  who  came  up  to  salute 
him  now  with  that  frank  indifference  to  other 
people  for  which  our  nation  is  said  to  be  pre- 
eminent. They  shook  hands  with  him  all 
round,  for  they  were  acquainted  with  his 
story,  and  Colin  was  of  the  kind  of  man  to 
make  people  interested  in  him ;  and  then 
they  began  to  talk. 

"A  sad  exhibition  this,  is  it  not,  Mr. 
Campbell  ?  "  said  the  mother  ;  "  one  forgets 
how  dreadful  it  is,  you  know,  when  one  sees 
it  in  all  its  grandeur, — its  fine  music,  and  sil- 
ver trumpets,  and  so  forth  ;  but  it  is  terrible 
to  see  all, these  poor  creatures,  and  to  think 
they  know  no  better.  Such  singing  !  There 
is  not  a  charity  school  at  home  that  would  do 
so  badly,  and  they  speak  of  music  in  Italy  !" 
said  the  English  matron,  who  indeed  in  her 
last  observation  had  some  truth  on  her  side. 

"  Hush,"  said  Colin,  who  was  young,  and 
not  above  saying  a  fine  thing  when  he  could  ; 
"  listen  to  the  echo.  Are  there  some  kind 
angels  in  the  dome,  do  you  think,  to  mend  the 
music?  or  is  it  the  poor  old  heathens  who 
hang  about  for  very  wistfulness,  and  say  as 
good  an  Amen  as  they  can,  poor  souls? 
Listen ;  I  have  heard  no  music  like  it  in 
Rome." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Campbell,  what  a  beautiful 
idea  !  "  said  the  young  lady  ;  and  then,  the 
service  being  ended,  they  walked  about  a 
little,  and  looked  up  from  the  centre  of  the 
place  to  the  blue  wintry  sky,  which  forms  the 
living  centre  of  that  vault  of  ages, — an  occu- 
pation which  Lauderdale  interrupted  hurried- 
ly enough  by  reminding  Colin  that  they  had 
still  to  get  out  to  Frascati,  and  were  already 
after  time. 

"  Oh  !  you  still  live  in  Frascati,"  said  Co- 
lin's  acquaintance,  "  with  that  very  strange 
young  man  ?  I  never  spoke  to  anybody  in  my 
life  who  startled  me  so  much.     Do  you  hap- 


141 


pen  to  know  if  he  is  a  son  of  that  very  strange 
Mr.  Meredith,  whom  thei-e  was  so  much  talk 
of  last  year  ? — that  man,  you  know,  who  pre- 
tended to  be  so  very  good,  and  ran  away  with 
somebody.  Dear  me,  I  thought  everybody 
knew  that  story.  His  son  was  ill,  I  know, 
and  lived  abroad.  I  wonder  if  it  is  the 
same." 

"  I  don't  think  my  friend  has  any  father," 
said  Colin,  who,  stimulated  by  the  knowledge 
that  the  last  train  would  start  in  half  an 
hour,  was  anxious  to  get  away. 

"  Ah,  well,  I  hope  so,  I  am  sure,  for  your 
sake  ;  for  that  ]\Ir.  Meredith  was  a  dreadful 
man,  and  pretended  to  be  so  good  till  he  was 
found  out,"  said  the  lady.  "Something 
Hall  was  the  name  of  his  place.  Let  me  rec- 
ollect. Dear  me,  does  nobody  know  the 
name?  " 

"Good-by;  it  is  over  time,"  said  Colin, 
and  he  obeyed  the  gesture  of  Lauderdale, 
and  rushed  after  his  already  distant  figure  ; 
but,  before  he 'had  turned  the  corner  of  the 
square,  one  of  the  sons  overtook  him.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,  but  my  mother  wishes  you 
to  know  that  it  was  Meredith  of  Moreby  she 
was  talking  of  just  now,"  said  the  young 
man  out  of  breath.  Colin  laughed  to  him- 
self as  he  hastened  after  his  friend.  What 
had  he  to  do  with  Meredith  of  IMoreby  ?  But 
as  he  dashed  along,  he  began  to  recollect  an 
ugly  story  in  the  papers,  and  to  bethink  him- 
self of  a  certain  odd  prejudice  which  he  had 
been  conscious  of  on  first  hearing  the  name 
of  the  brother  and  sister.  When  he  gqt 
near  enough  to  Lauderdale  to  lay  hold  of 
his  arm,  Colin  could  not  help  uttering,  as 
was  usual  to  him,  what  was  at  present  on  the 
surface  of  his  mind. 

"You  know  all  about  them,"  he  said; 
"  do  you  think  they  have  a  father?  "  which 
simple  words  were  said  with  a  few  gasps,  as 
he  was  out  of  breath. 

"  What's  the  use  of  coming  after  me 
like  a  steam-engine  ?  "  said  Lauderdale  ; 
"did  you  think  I  would  run  away?  and 
you've  need  of  a'  your  breath  for  that  weary 
brae.  How  should  I  ken  all  about  them? 
They're  your  friends  and  not  mine." 

"  All  very  well,  Lauderdale ;  but  she  never 
makes  me  her  confidant,"  said  the  young 
man  with  his  usual  laugh. 

"  It's  no  canny  to  speak  of  s/je,"  said 
Lauderdale  :  "  it's  awfu'  suggestive,  and  no 
a  word  for  either  you  or  me.  She  has  an 
aunt  in  India,  and  two  uncles  that  died  in 
the  Crimea,  if  you  want  to  kiasw  exactly. 
That  is  all  she  has  ever  told  to  me." 

And  with  this  they  dismissed  the  subject 
from  their  minds,  and,  arm  in  arm,  addressed 
themselves  to  the  arduous  task  of  getting  to 
the  station  through  the  narrow  crowded 
streets  in  time  for  the  train. 


142 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


PART    XI. — CHAPTER  XXXII. 

The  fatigue  of  sight-seeing,  wound  up  by 
a  frantic  rush  to  the  railway  to  be  in  time 
for  the  train,  which  after  all  was  a  train 
quite  at  leisure,  as  most  passengers  are  in 
Italy,  was  too  much  for  the  early  budding 
of  Colin's  strength,  and  laid  him  up  for 
a  day  or  two,  as  was  only  natural,  an  oc- 
currence which  had  a  curious  effect  upon  the 
little  household.  To  Lauderdale  it  was  a 
temporary  return  into  those  mists  of  despair 
which,  partly  produced  by  the  philosopher's 
own  sad  experience,  had  made  him  at  first 
come  to  80  abrupt  a  conclusion  touching 
Colin's  chances  of  life.  When  he  saw  him 
once  more  prostrated,  Lauderdale's  patience 
and  courage  alike  gave  way.  He  became  like 
a  man  in  a  sinking  ship,  who  has  not  compo- 
sure to  await  the  end  which  is  naturally  at 
hand,  but  flings  himself  into  the  sea  to  meet 
it.  lie  talked  wildly  of  going  home,  and 
bitterly  of  the  utter  privation  of  comfort  to 
which  his  invalid  was  exposed  ;  and  his  heart 
was  closed  for  the  moment  even  to  the  ap- 
proaches of  Alice.  "If  it  hadna  been  for 
you  !  "  he  said  within  his  clinched  teeth,  turn- 
ing away  from  her,  and  was  not  safe  to  speak 
to  for  the  moment.  But,  oddly  enough,  the  ef- 
fect of  Colin's  illness  upon  the  others  was  of 
an  entirely  different  character.  Instead  of 
distressing  Meredith  and  his  sister,  it  pro- 
duced, by  some  wonderful  eubtile  action 
which  we  do  not  pretend  to  explain,  an  exhil- 
arating effect  upon  them.  It  seemed  to  prove, 
somehow,  to  Alice  especially,  that  illness 
was  a  general  evil  distributed  over  all  the 
world ;  that  it  was  a  usual  thing  for  young 
men  to  be  reduced  to  weakness  and  obliged 
to  be  careful  of  themselves.  "  Mr.  Campbell, 
you  see,  is  just  the  same  as  Arthur.  It 
is  a  great  deal  commoner  than  one  thinks," 
the  poor  little  girl  said  to  Sora  Antonia,  who 
had  charge  of  the  house  ;  and  though  her 
feelings  towards  Colin  were  of  the  most  be- 
nevolent and  even  affectionate  description,  this 
thought  was  a  sensible  consolation  to  her. 
Meredith  regarded  the  matter  from  a  different 
point  of  view.  "  I  have  always  hoped  that 
he  was  one  of  the  chosen,"  the  invalid  said, 
when  he  heard  of  Colin's  illness  ;  "  but  I 
found  that  God  was  leaving  him  alone.  We 
always  judge  his  ways  prematurely  even  when 
we  least  intend  it.  We  ought  to  thank  God  that 
our  dear  friend  is  feeling  his  hand,  and  is 


subject  to  chastisements  which  may  lead  him 
to  Christ." 

"  Callant,"  said  Lauderdale,  fiercely, 
"  speak  of  things  ye  understand  ;  it's  not 
for  you  to  interfere  between  a  man  and  his 
Maker.  A  soul  more  like  Him  of  whom  you 
dare  to  speak  never  came  out  of  the  Al- 
mighty's bands.  Do  you  think  God  is  like  a 
restless  woman  and  never  can  be  done  med- 
dling?" said  Colin's  guardian,  betrayed  out 
of  his  usual  self-restraint  ;  but  his  own  heart 
was  trembling  for  his  charge,  and  he  had  not 
composure  enough  to  watch  over  his  words. 
As  for  the  sick  man,  whose  own  malady 
went  steadily  on  without  any  great  pauses  or 
sudden  increase,  he  lifted  his  dyirjg  eyes  and 
addressed  himself  eagerly,  as  he  was  wont, 
to  his  usual  argument. 

"  If  any  man  can  understand  it,  I  should," 
said  Meredith.  "  Can  I  not  trace  the  way 
by  which  he  has  led  me  ? — a  hard  way  to  flesh 
and  blood.  Can  I  not  sec  how  he  has  driven 
me  from  one  stronghold  after  another,  leaving 
me  no  refuge  but  in  Christ?  And,  such  being 
the  case,  can  you  wonder  that  I  should  wish 
the  same  discipline  to  my  friend  ?  The  only 
thing  I  should  fear  for  myself  is  restoration  to 
health  ;  and  are  you  surprised  that  I  should 
fear  it  for  him?  " 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  anything  but  my 
ain  idiocy  in  having  any  hand  in  the  matter," 
said  Lauderdale,  and  he  went  away  abruptly 
to  Colin's  room  with  a  horrible  sense  of  calam- 
ity and  helplessness.  There  was  something 
in  the  invalid's  confident  explanation  of  God's 
dealings  which  drove  him  half  frantic,  and 
filled  him  with  an  unreasonable  panic.  Per- 
haps it  was  true ;  perhaps  those  lightnings 
in  the  clouds  had  been  but  momentary — a 
false  hope.  When,  however,  with  his  agi- 
tation so  painfully  compressed  and  kept  un- 
der that  it  produced  a  morose  expression  upon 
his  grave  face,  he  went  into  Colin's  room,  he 
found  his  patient  sitting  up  in  bed,  with  his 
great-coat  over  bis  shoulders,  writing  with 
a  pencil  on  the  fly-leaf  of  the  book  which  his 
faithful  attendant  had  given  him  to  "  keep 
him  quiet." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  the  disorderly  invalid. 
"  I  am  all  right,  Lauderdale.  Give  us  pen 
and  ink,  like  a  kind  soul.  You  don't  imag- 
ine I  am  ill,  surely,  because  I  am  lazy  after 
last  night  ?  " 

"  I've  given  up  imagining  anything  on  the 


subject,"  said  Colin's  grim  guardian.  "  When 
a  man  in  his  senses  sets  up  house  with  a 
parcel  of  lunatics,  it's  easy  to  divine  wha* 
will  come  of  it.  Lie  down  in  your  bed 
and  keep  quiet,  and  get  well  again  ;  or  else 
get  up,"  said  Lauderdale,  giving  vent  to  a 
sharp,  acrid  sound,  as  if  he  had  gnashed  his 
teeth,  "  and  let  us  be  done  with  it  all,  and 
go  home." 

At  this  Colin  opened  his  quiet  brown  eyes, 
which  were  as  fer  from  being  anxious  or 
depressed  as  could  well  be  conceived,  and 
laughed  softly  in  his  companion's  face. 

"  This  comes  of  Meredith's  talk,  I  sup- 
pose," he  said  ;  "  and  of  course  it  has  been 
about  me,  or  it  would  not  have  riled  you. 
How  often  have  you  told  me  that  you  under- 
stood the  state  of  mind  which  produced  all 
that?  He  is  very  good  at  the  bottom,  Lau- 
derdale," said  Colin.  "  There's  a  good  fellow, 
give  me  my  little  writing-case.  I  want  to 
write  it  out." 

"You  want  to  write  what  out?"  asked 
Lauderdale.  "  Some  of  your  nonsense  verses  ? 
I'll  give  you  no  writing-case.  Lie  down  in 
your  bed  and  keep  yourself  warm.  You're 
awfu'  fond  of  looking  at  your  ain  productions. 
I've  no  doubt  it's  terrible  rubbish  if  a  man 
could  read  it.  Let's  see  the  thing.  Do  you 
think  a  parcel  of  verses  in  that  halting  '  In 
Memoriam  '  metre — I'm  no  saying  anything 
against  '  In  Memoriam  ;  '  but  if  /  set  up  for  a 
poet,  1  would  make  a  measure  for  mysel' — is 
worth  an  illness  ?  and  the  cold  of  this  wretch- 
ed place  is  enough  to  kill  any  rational  man. 
Eetaly  !  I  wouldna  send  a  dog  here,  to  be 
perished  with  cold  and  hunger.  Do  what  I 
tell  you,  callant,  and  lie  down.  It  shows  an 
awfu'  poverty  of  invention,  that  desire  to 
copy  everything  out." 

"  Stuif !  "  said  Colin  ;  "  you  don't  suppose 
it  is  for  myself.  I  want  to  give  it  to  some- 
body," said  the  young  man,  with  a  conscious 
smile.  And  to  look  at  him  with  his  counte- 
nance all  aglow,  pleasure  and  fun  and  affec- 
tion brightening  the  eyes  which  shone  still 
with  the  gentle  commotion  of  thoughts  ter- 
minating in  that  writing  of  verses,  it  was 
hard  to  consider  him  a  man  whom  God  for  a 
solemn  purpose  had  weighted  with  affliction, 
— as  he  had  appeared  in  Meredith's  eyes. 
Rather  he  looked,  what  he  was,  one  of  God's 
most  joyful  and  gifted  creatures  ;  glad  with- 
out knowing  why, — glad  because  the  sweet 
imaginations  of  youth  had  possession  of  him, 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL.  143 

and  filled  heaven  and  earth  with  brave  ap- 
paritions.     Love    and   curiosity   had  intro- 


duced into  the  heart  of  Lauderdale,  as  far  as 
Colin  was  concerned,  a  certain  feminine  ele- 
ment, and  he  laughed  unsteadily  out  of  a 
poignant  thrill  of  relief  and  consolation,  as 
he  took  the  book  from  his  patient's  hands. 

"  He's  no  a  callant  that  can  do  without 
an  audience,"  said  Lauderdale;  "  and,  see- 
ing it's  poetry  that's  in  question,  no  doubt 
it's  a  female  audience  that's  contemplated. 
You  may  spare  yourself  the  trouble,  Colin. 
She's  bonnie,  and  she's  good  ;  and  I'm  no 
free  to  say  that  I  don't  like  her  all  the  better 
for  caring  for  none  of  these  things  ;  but  I  see 
no  token  that  she'll  ever  get  beyond  VVattr.'s 
hymns  all  her  days.  You  needna  trouble 
your  head  about  writing  out  things  for  her." 

Upon  which  Colin  reddened  a  little,  and 
said  "  stuff!  "  and  made  a  long  grasp  at  the 
writing-case  ;  which  exertion  cost  him  a  fit 
of  coughing.  Lauderdale  sat  in  the  room  . 
gloomily  enougli  all  day,  asking  himself 
whether  the  color  was  hectic  that  brightened 
Colin's  cheeks,  and  listening  to  the  sound  of 
his  breathing  and  the  ring  of  his  voice  with 
indescribable  pangs  of  anxiety.  When  even- 
ing came,  the  watcher  had  considerably  more 
fever  than  the  patient,  and  turned  his  eyes 
abroad  over  the  Campagna,  with  a  gaze  which 
saw  nothing  glorious  in  the  scene.  At  that 
moment  the  sun  going  down  in  grandeur  over 
the  misty  distance,  which  was  Rome — the 
wonderful  belts  and  centres  of  color  in  the 
vault  of  sky  which  covered  in  that  melancholy 
waste  with  its  specks  of  ruin — were  nothing 
in  Lauderdale's  eyes  in  comparison  with  the 
vision  that  haunted  him  of  acosy,  homely  room 
in  a  Scotch  farmhouse,  full  of  warm  glimmers 
of  firelight  and  hearth  comforts.  "  He  would 
mend  if  he  were  but  at  home,"  he  said  to 
himself,  almost  with  bitterness,  turning  his 
eyes  from  the  landscape  without,  to  which  he 
was  indifferent,  to  the  bare  white  stony  walls 
within.  He  was  so  cold  sitting  there, — he 
who  was  well  and  strong, — that  he  had  put  on 
his  great-coat.  And  it  was  for  this  he  had 
brought  the  youth  whom  he  loved  so  far 
away  from  those  "  who  belonged  to  him  "  ! 
Lauderdale  thought  with  a  pang  of  the  mis- 
tress and  what  she  would  say  if  she  could 
see  the  comfortless  place  to  which  she  had 
sent  her  boy.  Meanwhile,  the  patient  who 
caused  so  much  anxiety  was  for  his  own 
part    very  comfortable,  and  copied  out  hia 


144 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


verses  with  a  care  that  made  it  very  apparent 
he  had  no  intention  of  coming  to  a  speedy 
end,  either  of  life  or  its  enjoyments.  He  had 
not  written  anything  for  a  long  time,  and  the 
exercise  was  pleasant  to  him  ;  and  when  he 
had  finished,  he  lay  back  on  his  pillows,  and 
took  the  trouble  to  remark  to  Lauderdale 
upon  the  decorations  of  the  poor,  bare,  stony 
chamber  which  the  philosopher  was  cursing  in 
his  heart.  "  Wc  are  before  them  in  some 
things,'''  said  Colin,  reflectively  ;  "  but  they 
beat  us  in  a  great  many.  See  how  simply 
that  effect  is  obtained,— just  a  line  or  two  of 
color,  and  yet  nothing  could  be  more  perfect 
in  its  way."  To  which  observation  Lau- 
derdale responded  only  by  an  indescribable 
growl,  which  provoked  the  laughter  of  his 
unruly  patient.  The  next  observation  Colin 
made  was,  however,  received  with  greater 
favor  ;  for  he  asked  plaintively  if  it  were  not 
time  for  dinner, — a  question  more  soothing  to 
Lauderdale's  feelings  than  volumes  of  remon- 
strances. He  carried  Colin's  portion  into  the 
room  wh6n  that  meal  arrived  from  the  Trat- 
toria, scorning  female  assistance,  and  arrang- 
ing everything  with  that  exquisite  uncouth 
tenderness  which,  perhaps,  only  a  woman 
could  do  full  justice  to  ;  for  the  fact  is  that 
Colin,  though  ravenously  hungry,  and  fully 
disposed  to  approve  of  the  repast,  had  a  mo- 
mentary thought  that  to  have  been  served  by 
the  little  housekeeper  herself,  had  that  been 
possible,  would  have  been  ever  so  much  pleas- 
anter.  When  the  darkness  had  hushed  and 
covered  up  the  Campagna,  and  stilled  all  the 
village  sounds,  Lauderdale  himself,  a  little 
flushed  from  an  addi-ess  he  had  just  been  de- 
livering to  Meredith,  went  in  and  looked  at 
the  sleeping  face  which  was  so  precious  to 
him,  and  tortured  himself  once  more  with 
questions  whether  it  might  be  fever  which 
gave  color  to  the  young  man's  cheek.  But 
Colin,  notwithstanding  his  cold,  was  breath- 
ing full,  long  breaths,  with  life  in  every  in- 
spiration, and  his  friend  went  not  uncomfort- 
cd  to  bed.  While  Colin  lay  thus  at  rest, 
Meredith  had  resumed  his  writing,  and 
was  working  into  his  current  chapter  the 
conversation  which  had  just  taken  place. 
"  The  worldly  man  asks  if  the  afllictions  of 
the  just  are  signs  of  favoritism  on  Cod's 
part,"  wrote  the  young  author,  "  and  ap- 
peals to  us  whether  a  happy  man  is  less 
beloved  of  his  Father  than  1  am  who  suffer. 
He  virtually  contradicts  Scripture,  and  tells 


me  that  the  Lord  does  not  scourge  every  one 
whom  ho  receiveth.  But  I  say,  and  the 
Holy  Bible  says  with  me,  Tremble,  0  ye 
who  are  happy ;  our  troubles  are  God's 
tokens  of  love  and  mercy  to  our  souls."  As 
he  wrote  this,  the  young  eyes,  which  were  so 
soon  to  close  upon  life,  heightened  and  ex- 
panded with  a  wonderful  glow.  His  mind 
was  not  broad,  nor  catholic,  nor  capable  of 
perceiving  the  manifold  diversity  of  those 
ways  of  God  which  are  beyond  the  compre- 
hension of  men.  He  could  not  understand 
how,  upon  the  last  and  lightest  laborer,  the 
Master  of  the  vineyard  might  bestow  the 
equal  hire,  and — taking  that  as  the  hardest 
labor  which  fell  to  his  own  share — was  bent 
at  least  on  making  up  for  it  b}'  the  most  su- 
preme compensation.  And  indeed,  it  was 
hard  to  blame  him  for  claiming,  by  way  of 
balance  to  his  afflictions,  a  warmer  and  closer 
share  in  the  love  of  God.  At  least,  that 
was  no  vulgar  recompense.  As  for  the 
"  worldly  man  "  of  Arthur's  paragraph,  he, 
too,  sat  a  long  while  in  his  chamber,  not 
writing,  but  pondering,  —  gazing  into  the 
flame  of  the  tall  Roman  lamp  on  his  table  as 
if  some  solution  of  the  mysteries  in  his 
thoughts  were  to  be  found  in  its  smoky  light. 
To  identify  Lauderdale  in  this  character 
would  have  been  difficult  enough  to  any  one 
who  knew  him;  yet,  to  Meredith,  he  had  af- 
forded a  perfect  example  of  "  carnal  reason- 
ing," and  the  disposition  Avhich  is  accord- 
ing to  the  flesh  and  not  according  to  the 
spirit.  This  worldly-minded  individual  sat 
staring  into  the  lamp,  even  after  his  young 
critic  had  ceased  to  write, — revolving  things 
that  he  could  see  were  about  to  happen, 
and  things  which  he  dreaded  without  be- 
ing able  to  see  ;  and  more  than  all,  wonder- 
ing over  that  awful  mystery  of  Providence  to 
which  the  young  invalid  gave  so  easy  a  solu- 
tion. "  It  wouldna  be  so  hard  to  make  out 
if  a  man  could  think  he  was  less  loved  than 
his  fellows,  as  they  thought  langsyne,"  said 
Lauderdale  to  himself,  "  or  more  loved,  as, 
twisting  certain  Scriptures,  it's  the  Hishion  to 
say  now  ;  but  it's  awfu'  ill  to  understand 
such  dealings  in  him  that  is  the  Father  of  all 
and  makes  nae  favorites.  Poor  callant !  it's 
like  he'll  be  the  first  to  find  the  secret  out." 
And  as  he  pondered,  he  could  not  restrain  a 
groan  over  the  impending  fate  which  threat- 
ened Meredith,  and  on  the  complications  that 
were  soon  to  follow.     To  be  sure,  he  had 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


nothing  particular  to  do  with  it,  however  it 
might  happen  ;  but  every  kind  of  Christian 
tenderness  and  charity  lurked  in  the  heart  of 
the  homely  Scotch  philosopher  who  stood  in 
Arthur  Meredith's  last  chapter  as  the  im- 
personation of  the  worldly  man. 

Next  day  Colin  reappeared,  to  the  aston- 
ishment of  the  brother  and  sister.  Let  us 
not  say  to  their  disappointment ;  and  yet 
poor  little  Alice,  underneath  her  congratula- 
tions, said  to  herself  with  a  pang,  "  He  has 
got  well, — they  all  get  well  but  Arthur  ;" 
and  when  she  was  aware  of  the  thought, 
hated  herself,  and  wondered  wistfully  wheth- 
er it  was  because  of  her  wickedness  that  her 
prayers  for  Arthur  were  not  heard.  Anx- 
iety and  even  grief  are  not  the  improving  in- 
fluences they  are  sometimes  thought  to  be, — 
and  it  is  hard  upon  human  nature  to  be 
really  thankful  for  the  benefits  which  God 
gives  to  others,  passing  over  one's  self.  ]Mere- 
dith,  who  was  a  sufferer  in  his  own  person, 
could  afford  to  be  more  generous.  He  said, 
"I  am  glad  you  are  better,"  with  all  his 
heart ;  and  then  he  added,  "  The  Lord  does 
not  mean  to  leave  you  alone,  Campbell. 
Though  he  has  spared  you,  he  still  continues 
his  warnings.  Do  not  neglect  them,  I  be- 
seech you,  my  dear  friend" — before  he  re- 
turned to  his  writing.  He  was  occupied  now 
day  and  night  with  his  "  Voice  from  the 
Grave."  He  was  less  able  to  walk,  less  able 
to  talk,  than  he  had  been,  and  now,  as  the 
night  came  fast  in  which  no  man  can  work, 
was  devoting  all  his  time  and  all  his  feeble 
strength  to  this  last  message  to  the  world. 

It  would  have  been  pitiful  enough  to  any 
indifferent  spectator  to  note  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  sick  man's  solemn  labor  apart  and 
the  glow  of  subdued  pleasure  in  Colin 's  face 
as  he  drew  his  seat  in  the  evening  towards 
the  table  which  Alice  had  chosen  for  herself. 
The  great  bare  room  had  so  much  space  and 
so  many  tables,  and  there  was  so  large  a  stock 
of  lamps  among  the  movables  of  the  house, 
that  each  of  the  party  had  a  corner  for  him- 
self, to  which  (with  his  great-coat  on  or  oth- 
erwise) he  could  retire  when  he  chose.  The 
table  of  Alice  was  the  central  point ;  and  as 
she  sat  with  the  tall,  antique  lamp  throwing 
its  primitive  unshaded  light  upon  her,  still 
and  graceful  with  her  needlework,  the  sight 
of  her  was  like  that  of  a  supreme  objct  de  luxe 
in  the  otherwise  bare  apartment.  Perhaps, 
under  due  protection  and  control,  the  pres- 

10 


145 

ence  of  womankind,  thus  calm,  thus  silent, 
— letting  itself,  as  the  old  maxim  commanded, 
be  seen  and  not  heard,  —  is  to  men  of  sober 
mind  and  middle  age — such  as  Lauderdale, 
for  example — the  most  agreeable  ornament 
with  which  a  room  could  be  provided.  Young- 
er individuals  might  prefer  that  the  tableau 
should  dissolve,  and  the  impersonation  of 
womankind  melt  into  an  ordinary  woman. 
Such  at  heart  was  the  feeling  of  Colin.  She 
was  very  sweet  to  look  at ;  but  if  she  had 
descended  from  her  pedestal,  and  talked  a  lit- 
tle and  laughed  a  little,  and  even,  perhaps — 
but  the  idea  of  anything  like  flirtation  on  the 
part  of  Alice  JMeredith  was  too  absurd  an 
idea  to  be  entertained  for  a  moment.  How- 
ever, abstracted  and  preoccupied  as  she  was, 
she  was  still  a  woman,  young  and  pretty, 
and-  Colin 's  voice  softened  and  bis  eyes  bright- 
ened as  he  drew  his  chair  to  the  other  side 
of  the  lamp,  and  looked  across  the  table  at 
her  soft,  downcast  face.  "  I  hapo  something 
here  I  want  you  to  look  at,"  said  the  young 
poet,  who  had  been  used  to  Mitty  Frank- 
land's  sympathy  and  curiosity  ;  "not  that  it 
is  much  worth  your  while ;  but  Lauderdale 
told  you  that  writing  verses  was  a  weakness 
of  mine,"  he  went  on,  with  a  youthful  blush 
and  smile.  As  for  Alice,  she  took  the  paper 
he  gave  her,  looking  a  little  frightened,  and 
held  it  for  a  moment  in  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Campbell ;  am  I  to 
read  it?"  she  said,  with  puzzled,  uncei'tain 
looks.  Naturally  enough  she  was  perplexed 
and  even  frightened  by  such  an  address  ;  for, 
as  Lauderdale  said,  her  knowledge  of  poetry 
was  confined  to  hymns,  over  which  hung  an 
awful  shadow  from  "Paradise  Lost."  She 
opened  Colin's  "  copy  of  verses  "  timorously 
as  she  spoke,  and  glanced  at  them,  and  stum- 
bled at  his  handwriting,  which,  like  most 
other  people's  in  these  scribbling  days,  was 
careless  and  indistinct.  "  I  am  sure  it  is 
very  pretty,"  faltered  Alice,  as  she  got  to 
the  end  of  the  page  ;  and  then,  more  timidly 
still,  "  What  am  I  to  do  with  it,  Mr.  Camp- 
bell? "  asked  the  poor  girl.  When  she  saw 
the  sudden  flush  that  covered  his  face,  Alice's 
slumbering  faculties  were  wakened  up  by  the 
sharp  shock  of  having  given  pain,  which  was 
a  fault  which  she  had  very  seldom  consciously 
committed  in  the  course  of  her  innocent  life. 
Colin  was  too  much  a  gentleman  to  lose 
his  temper  ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that 
the  effort  which  he  had  to  make  to  keep  it 


146 

■was  a  violent  one,  and  required  all  his  man- 
hood. "Keep  it  if  you  like  it,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile  which  thinly  covered  his  morti- 
fication ;  "  or  put  it  in  the  fire  if  you  don't." 
He  said  this  as  philosophically  as  was  possi- 
ble under  the  circumstances.  And  then  he 
tried  a  little  conversation  by  way  of  proving 
his  perfect  composure  and  command  of  his 
feelings,  during  which  poor  Alice  sat  fluttered 
and  uncomfortable  and  self-conscious  as  slie 
had  never  been  before.  Her  w5rk  was  at  an 
end  for  that  night  at  least.  She  held  Colin's 
little  poem  in  her  hand,  and  kept  her  eyes 
upon  it,  and  tried  with  all  her  might  to  in- 
vent something  gracious  and  complimentary 
which  could  be  said  without  oifence  ;  for,  of 
course,  carefully  as  he  imagined  himself  to 
have  concealed  it,  and  utterly  unconscious  of 
the  fact  as  Lauderdale  remained,  who  was 
watching  them,  Alice  was  as  entirely  aware 
of  the  state  of  Colin's  mind  and  temper  at 
the  moment  as  be  was  himself.  After  a 
while,  he  got  up  and  went  to  Meredith's  table 
by  the  fire ;  and  the  two  began  to  talk,  as 
Alice  imagined,  of  matters  much  too  serious 
and  momentous  to  leave  either  at  leisure  to 
remark  her  movements.  When  she  saw  them 
thus  occujjied,  she  left  the  room  almost  steal th- 
ly,  carrying  with  her  the  tall  lamp  with  its 
four  tongues  of  flame.  She  set  down  her 
light  in  her  own  room,  when  she  reached 
that  sanctuary,  and  once  more  read  and  pored 
over  Colin's  poem.  There  was  nothing  about 
love  in  it,  and  consequently  nothing  improper 
or  alarming  to  Alice.  It  was  all  about  the 
Pantheon  and  its  vespers,  and  the  echoes  in 
the  dome.  But  then  why  did  he  give  it  to 
her? — why  did  he  look  so  much  disturbed 
when  she  in  her  surprise  and  unreadiness 
hesitated  over  it?  Such  an  offering  was 
totally  new  to  Alice  ;  but  how  could  she  be 
expected  to  understand  exactly  how  it  ought 
to  be  received  ?  But  it  is  impossible  to  de- 
scribe how  vexed  and  mortified  she  was  to 
find  she  had  failed  of  what  was  expected  of 
her,  and  inflicted  pain  when  she  might  have 
given  pleasure.  She  had  been  rude,  and  to 
be  rude  was  criminal  in  her  code  of  manners; 
and  a  flutter  of  other  questions,  other  curiosi- 
ties, awoke  without  any  will  of  her  own  in  the 
young  creature's  maiden  bosom  ;  for,  indeed, 
she  was  still  very  young, — not  nineteen, — 
and  so  preoccupied  by  one  class  of  thoughts 
that  her  mind  had  been  absolutely  barred 
against  all  others  until  now.     The  end  was 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


that  she  put  Colin's  poem,  not  in  her  bosom 
— which,  indeed,  is  an  inconvenient  recepta- 
cle, and  one  not  often  chosen  nowadays 
even  by  young  ladies, — but  into  the  private 
pocket  of  her  writing-case,  the  very  inner- 
most of  her  sanctuaries.  "  IIow  clever  he 
is!  "  Alice  thought  to  herself;  "  how  odd  that 
such  things  should  come  into  any  one's  head ! 
and  to  think  1  had  not  even  the  civility  to 
say  that  it  was  beautiful  poetry  !  "  Then 
she  went  back  very  humbly  into  the  sitting- 
room,  and  served  Colin  with  the  last  cup  of 
tea,  which  was  the  most  excellent.  "  For  I 
know  you  like  strong  tea,  Mr.  Campbell," 
she  said,  looking  at  him  with  appealing  eyes. 
"It  feels  quite  strange  to  thint  that  we 
should  know  you  so  well, —  you  who  can 
write  such  beautiful  poetry,"  *  she  managed 

*  Miss  Matty  had  been  so  good  an  audicneo  that 
Colin  at  this  time  of  his  life  was  a  little  spoiled  in 
respect  to  his  poetry,  which,  however,  after  all,  he 
did  not  consider  poetry,  but  only  verses,  to  amuse 
himself  with.  The  little  poem  in  question,  which 
he  had  entitled  "  Vespers  in  the  Pantheon,"  is,  for 
the  satisfaction  of  his  friends,  given  underneath  : — 

"  What  voice  is  in  the  mighty  dome. 
Where  the  blue  eye  of  heaven  looks  through, 
Aud  where  the  rain  falls,  and  the  dew, 
In  the  old  heart  of  Rome  ? 

"  On  the  vast  area  below 
Are  priests  in  robes  of  sullied  white. 
And  humble  servitors  that  light 
The  altars  with  a  glow — 

"  Pale  tapers  in  the  twilight  dim, 
Poor  humble  folks  that  come  to  say 
Their  farewell  to  departing  day, 

Theh-  darkling  faith  in  Him. 

"  Who  rules  imperial  Rome  the  last : 
The  song  is  shrill  and  sad  below, 
With  discords  harsh  of  want  and  woe 
Into  the  music  cast. 

"Tiut  in  the  mighty  vault  that  bares 
Its  open  heart  into  the  sky 
Vague  peals  of  anthem  sounding  high 
Echo  the  human  prayers. 

"Oh,  solemn  shrine  !  wherein  lie  dead 

The  gods  of  old,  the  dreams  of  men. 

What  voice  is  this  that  wakes  again 

The  echoes  ovei-head, 

"  Pealing  aloft  the  holiest  name — 
The  lowliest  name,  Rome's  ancient  scorn — 
Now  to  earth's  furthest  boundaries  borne, 
With  fame  above  all  fame  ? 

"  Isit  some  soul  whose  mortal  days 
Had  known  no  better  God  than  Jove, 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


to  say  later  in  the  evening.  "  I  have  always 
supposed  a  poet  so  different." 

"  With  wings,  perhaps?  "  said  Colin,  who 
was  not  displeased  even  with  this  simple  tes- 
timony. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Alice,  "  that  is  impossi- 
ble, you  know, — but  certainly  very  different ; 
and  it  was  so  very  kind  to  think  of  giving  it 
to  me." 

Thus  she  made  her  peace  vrith  the  young 
man  ;  but  it  is  doubtful  how  far  she  promot- 
ed her  own  by  so  doing.  It  introduced  a  new 
element  of  wonder  and  curiosity,  if  nothing 
more,  into  her  watching  life. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"  It  would  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  me," 
said  Lauderdale,  "  to  have  some  understand- 
ing about  their  relations.  There's  few  folk 
80  lonely  in  this  world  but  vrhat  they  have 
some  kin,  be  they  kind  or  not.  It's  awfu'  to 
look  at  that  poor  bit  thing,  and  think  how 
forlorn  she'll  be  by  and  by  when  " — 

"When?"  said  Colin, — "what  do  you 
mean?  Meredith  is  not  worse,  that  I  can 
see.     In  that  what  you  are  thinking  of?  " 

"It's  an  awfu'  gradual  descent,"  said 
Lauderdale  ;  "  nae  precipices  there,  and  piti- 

Though  dimly  prescient  of  a  love, 

Was  worthy  higher  praise  ? — 

"  Some  soul  that  late  hath  seen  the  Lord  : 
Some  wistful  soul,  eager  to  share 
The  tender  trust  of  Christian  prayer, 

Though  not  by  wish  or  word : — 

"  By  homage  inarticulate  : 

Murmurs  and  thunders  of  sweet  sound  : 
And  great  Amens  that  circle  round 
Heaven's  liberal  open  gate  ? 

"  Great  singer,  wert  thou  one  of  those 

Spirits  in  prison  whom  He  sought, 
i    Soon  as  his  wondrous  work  was  wrought, 
Ending  all  doubts  and  woes  ? 

"  Alone?  or  comes  there  here  a  throng? 
Agrippa — he  who  built  the  shrine  : 
And  men  who  groped  for  the  divine 

Through  lifetimes  hard  and  long. 

"  Great  Romans  !  to  this  vault  austere 
'Tis  meet  we  should  return  to  tell 
Of  that  which  was  inscrutable, 

That  God  hath  made  it  clear. 

"  So  we,  still  bound  in  mortal  pain. 
Take  courage  'neath  the  echoing  dome, 
In  the  dear  heart  of  this  sad  Rome, 
To  give  you  back — Amen  !  " 


147 

ful  to  behold ;  but  he's  making  progress  on 
his  way.  I'm  no  mistaken,  callant ;  a  man 
like  me  has  seen  such  sights  before.  It  looks 
as  if  it  could  go  on  forever,  and  nae  great 
difference  perceptible  from  day  to  day,  but 
the  wheels  a-turning  and  the  thread  spinning 
off,  and  nobody  can  say  for  certain  what  mo- 
ment it  may  break,  like  glass,  and  the  spin- 
ning come  to  an  end.  Ay,  it's  an  awfu'  mys- 
tery. You  may  break  your  heart  thinking  ; 
but  you'll  come  to  no  solution.  I've  tried  it 
as  much  as  most  men,  and  should  ken  ; — but 
that's  no  the  rqfitter  under  consideration.  I 
would  be  glad  to  know  something  about  their 
friends." 

"  I  don't  suppose  they  have  any  friends," 
said  Colin,  who  had  by  this  time  forgotten 
the  suggestion  of  his  English  acquaintances. 
"  He  would  never  have  brought  his  sister 
here  with  him  alone  if  he  had  had  any  one  to 
leave  her  with, — that  is,  if  he  believed,  as  he 
says  he  does,  that  he  was  going  to  die, — 
which  words,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a 
pang  of  fellow-feeling  and  natural  pity,  "  are 
terrible  words  to  say." 

"  I'm  no  so  sure  about  either  of  your  pvop- 
ositions,"  said  Lauderdale ;  "I've  very  little 
objection  to  die,  for  my  part.  No  to  speak 
of  hopes  a  man  has  as  a  Christian, — though  I 
maybe  canna  see  them  as  clear  as  that  poor 
callant  thinks  he  does, — it  would  be  an  awfu' 
satisfaction  to  ken  what  was  the  meaning  of  it 
all,  which  is  my  grand  difficulty  in  this  life. 
And  I  cannot  say  I  am  satisfied,  for  that 
matter,  that  he  brought  his  sister  here  for 
want  of  somebody  to  leave  her  with  ;  she's  a 
kind  of  property  that  he  wouldna  like  to 
leave  behind.  He  was  not  thinking  of  her 
when  they  started,  but  of  himsel' ;  nor  can  I 
see  that  his  mind's  awakening  to  any  thought 
of  her  even  now,  though  he's  awfu'  anxious, 
no  doubt,  about  her  soul  and  yours  and  mine. 
Whisht !  it's  temperament,  callant.  I'm  no 
blaming  the  poor  dying  lad.  It's  hard  upon 
a  man  if  he  cannot  be  permitted  to  take 
some  bit  female  creature  that  belongs  to  him 
as  far  as  the  grave's  mouth.  She  maun  find 
her  way  back  from  there  the  best  way  she  can. 
It's  human  nature,  Colin,  fora'  you  look  like 
a  glaring  lion  at  me." 

"I prefer  your  ordinary  manner  of  ex- 
pounding human  nature,"  said  Colin. 
"  Don't  talk  like  this ;  if  Miss  Meredith  is  left 
so  really  helpless  and  solitary,  at  all  events, 
Lauderdale,  she  can  rely  on  you  and  me." 


148 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


"  Ay,"  said  the  philosopher,  shortly  ;  "  and 
grand  protectors  we  would  he  for  the  like  of 
her.  Two  men  no  her  equals  in  the  eye  of 
the  world,— I'm  no  heeding  your  indignant 
looks,  my  freend  ;  I'm  a  better  judge  than 
you  of  some  things, — and  one  of  us  no  of  an 
age  to  be  over  and  above  trusted.  A  lad  like 
you  can  take  care  of  a  bit  thing  like  her 
only  in  one  way  ;  and  that's  out  of  the  ques- 
tion under  present  circumstances, — even  if 
either  of  you  were  thinking  of  such  vanities, 
of  which  I  see  no  sign." 

"  None  whatever,"  said  Colin,  with  a  mo- 
mentary heat.  "  She  is  not  in  my  way  ;  and, 
besides,  she  is  greatly  too  much  occupied  to 
think  of  any  such  vanities,  as  you  say." 

"  Hallo,"  said  Lauderdale  to  himself  ;  and 
he  cast  a  half-amused,  suspicious  look  at  his 
companion,  whose  face  was  flushed  a  little. 
Colin  was  thinking  only  of  Alice's  want  of 
comprehension  and  sympathy  on  the  previous 
night ;  but  the  touch  of  offence  and  mortifi- 
cation was  as  evident  as  if  she  had  been  un- 
kind to  him  in  more  important  particulars. 

"  Being  agreed  on  that  point,  it's  easier 
to  manage  the  rest,"  Lauderdale  resumed, 
with  the  ghost  of  a  smile  ;  "  and  I  dinna 
pretend,  for  my  own  part,  to  be  a  fit  guardian 
for  a  young  leddy.  It's  a'  very  well  for  Telle- 
machus  to  wander  about  the  world  like  this 
but  I'm  no  qualified  to  keep  watch  and  ward 
over  the  princess.  Poor  thing!  "  said  the 
philosopher,  "  it's  awfu'  early  to  begin  her 
troubles ;  but  I  would  be  easy  in  my  mind, 
comparatively,  if  we  could  find  out  about 
their  friends.  She's  no  so  very  communica- 
tive in  that  particular  ;  and  she  has  her  bit 
woman's  wiles,  innocent  as  she  looks.  She'll 
give  me  no  satisfaction,  though  I'm  awfu' 
cunning  in  my  questions.  What  was  it  yon 
silly  woman  said  about  some  Meredith  of 
some  place  ?  I'm  no  without  suspicions  in 
my  own  mind." 

♦'  What  sort  of  suspicions?"  said  Colin. 
"She  said  Meredith  of  Mai  thy.  I  wrote  it 
down  somewhere.  There  was  a  row  about  him 
in  the  papers — don't  you  remember — a  few 
years  ago." 

"  Oh,  ay,  I  remember,"  said  Lauderdale  ; 
"  one  of  those  that  consume  widows'  houses, 
and  for  a  pretence  make  long  prayers.  The 
wonder  to  me  is  how  this  callaut,  if  he  should 
happen  to  be  such  a  man's  son,  did  not  take 
a  sickening  at  religion  altogether.  That's 
the  consequence  in  a  common  mind.     It  gives 


me  a  higher  notion  of  this  poor  lad.  He  has 
his  faults,  like  most  folk  I  ken,"  said  Lau- 
derdale. "He's  awfu'  young,  which  is  the 
chief  of  all,  and  it's  one  that  will  never  mend 
in  his  case  in  this  life  ;  but,  if  he's  yon  man's 
son,  no  to  have  abandoned  a'  religion,  no  to 
have  scorned  the  very  name  of  preaching  and 
prayer,  is  a  clear  token  to  me  that  the  root  of 
the  matter's  in  him  ;  though  he  may  be  a  wee 
unrighteous  to  his  ain  flesh  and  blood," — the 
philosopher  went  on  philosophically, — "that's 
neither  here  nor  there." 

"  If  religion  does  not  make  us  righteous  to 
our  own  flesh  and  blood,  what  is  the  good  of 
it?  "  said  Colin.  "  To  care  for  souls,  as  you 
say,  but  not  to  care  for  leaving  his  sister  so 
helpless  and  desolate,  would  be  to  me  as  bad 
as  his  father's  wickedness.  Bah  !  his  father  ! 
— what  am  I  saying  ?  He  is  no  more  his 
father  than  the  duke  is  mine.  It  is  only  a 
coincidence  of  name." 

"  I'm  making  no  assertions,"  said  Lauder- 
dale. "  It  may  be  or  it  may  not  be  ;  I'm  no 
saying  ;  but  you  should  aye  bear  in  mind 
that  there's  an  awfu'  difference  between  prac- 
tice and  theory.  To  have  a  good  theory — or, 
if  ye  like,  a  grand  ideal — o'  existence,  is 
about  as  much  as  a  man  can  attain  to  in  this 
world.  To  put  it  into  full  practice  is  reserved, 
let  us  aye  hope,  for  the  life  to  come.  How- 
ever, I  wouldna  say,"  saidColin's  guardian, 
changing  his  tone.  "  but  that  kind  of  practi- 
cal paradox  might  run  in  the  blood.  Our 
friend  Arthur — poor  man  ! — has  no  meaning 
of  neglect  to  his  sister.  Do  no  man  injustice. 
Maybe  the  other  had  as  little  intention  of 
cheating  them  that  turned  out  his  victims. 
An  awfu'  practical  accident  like  that  might 
be  accompanied  by  a  beautiful  theory.  Just 
as  in  the  case  of  his  son  " — 

"  StufiT !  "  said   Colin,   who   thought  his 
friend  prosy.      "  Why  will   you   insist  on* 
saying  '  his  son  '  ?     Meredith  is  not  an  un- 
common name.     You  might  as  well  say  Owen 
Meredith  was  his  brother." 

"  There's  nothing  more  likely,"  said  the 
philosopher,  composedly;  "brothers  aye 
take  different  roads,  especially  when  they 
come  out  of  such  a  nest." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  Colin  ;  "  the 
nest  is  entirely  problematical,  and  your  rea- 
soning' is, — Scotch,  Scotch  to  the  heart,  de- 
ductive, and  altogether  independent  of  fiict. 
You  might  as  well  say,  because  this  is  an 
Italian  landscape  we  are  looking  at,  because 


A    SON    OP    THE    SOIL. 


149 


these  gray  trees  are  olives,  and  that  plain  the 
Campagna,  that  it  cannot  be  Prince  Charlie 
■who  lies  down  yonder  under  shelter  of  that 
shabby  dome.  What  a  sermon  it  is  !  I  wish 
I  could  preach  like  that  when  I  come  to  my 
pulpit ;  but  the  burden,  I  fear,  would  be, — 
'  What  does  it  matter?  what  is  the  good  of 
laboring  and  fighting  and  conquering,  win- 
ning battles  or  losing  them  ;  Great  Hadrian 
is  all  dissolved  into  patches  and  tatters  yon- 
der, and  here  is  Charles  Stuart  in  a  stran- 
ger's grave.'  On  the  whole,  it  is  the  man 
who  has  failed  who  has  the  best  of  it  now. 
It  is  odd  to  think  of  the  perseverance  of  the 
race,  and  how  any  man  ever  attempts  to  do 
anything.  Let  us  lie  down  here  and  dream 
till  we  die." 

"  It's  awfu'  to  be  a  poet,"  said  Lauderdale ; 
"  the  poor  callant  contemplates  more  verses. 
That  kind  of  thing  is  well  enough  for  bits  of 
laddies  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge ;  but  we've 
no  Ncwdigates  in  our  university.  Dinna 
you  fash  your  bead  about  the  race.  I'm  no 
a  man  that  believes  in  sermons  myself, 
whether  they  be  from  your  lips,  or  from  the 
Campagna.  Every  man  has  his  own  affairs 
in  hand.  He'll  pay  only  a  very  limited  at- 
tention either  to  it  or  to  you  ;  but  listen 
now  to  what  I  have  got  to  say." 

What  Lauderdale  had  to  say  was  still  upon 
the  subject  of  which  Colin  by  this  time  had 
got  tired, — the  supposed  connection  of  the. 
brother  and  sister  with  the  famous,  or  rather 
notorious,  Meredith  of  Maltby,  who  was  one 
of  the  great  leaders  of  that  fashion  of  swind- 
ling so  prevalent  a  few  years  ago,  by  means 
of  which  directors  of  banks  and  joint-stock 
companies  brought  so  many  people  to  ruin. 
Of  these  practitioners  Mr.  Meredith  of 
Maltby  had  been  one  of  the  most  successful. 
He  had  passed  through  one  or  two  disagreea- 
ble examinations,  it  is  true,  in  Insolvent 
Courts  and  elsewhere  ;  but  he  had  managed 
to  steer  clear  of  the  law,  and  to  retain  a 
comfortable  portion  of  his  ill-gotten  gains. 
He  was  a  pious  man,  who  subscribed  to  all 
the  societies,  and  had,  of  course,  since  these 
unpleasant  accidents  occurred,  been  held  up 
to  public  admiration  by  half  the  newspapers 
of  Great  Britain  as  an  instance  of  the  nat- 
ural effect  produced  upon  the  human  mind 
by  an  assumption  of  superior  piety  ;  and 
more  than  one  clever  leading  article,  intended 
to  prove  that  lavish  subscriptions  to  benev- 
olent purposes,  and  attendance  at  prayer- 


meetings,  were  the  natural  evidences  of  a 
mind  disposed  to  prey  on  its  fellow-creatures, 
had  been  made  pointed  and  emphatic  by  his 
name.  Lauderdale's  "  case  "  was  subtile 
enough,  and  showed  that  he,  at  least,  had 
not  forgotten  the  hint  given  in  the  Pantheon. 
He  told  Colin  that  all  his  cunning  inquiries 
could  elicit  n«  information  about  the  father 
of  the  forlorn  pair.  Their  mother  was  dead, 
and,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  Alice  was 
sufficiently  communicative  ;  and  she  had  an 
aunt  in  India  whom  Lauderdale  knew  by 
heart.  "A'  that  is  so  easy  to  draw  out  that 
the  other  is  all  the  more  remarkable,"  said 
the  inquisitor;  "and  it's  awfu' instructive 
to  see  the  way  she  doubles  out  when  I  think 
I've  got  her  in  a  corner, — no  bayiug  what's 
no  true,  but  fencing  like  a  little  Jesuit, — that 
is,  speaking  proverbially,  and  so  vouching 
for  my  premises,  for  I  ken  nothing  about 
Jesuits  in  my  ain  person.  I  would  like  to  be 
at  the  bottom  of  a  woman's  notions  on  such 
subjects.  The  way  that  bit  thing  will  lift 
up  her  innocent  face,  and  give  me  to  under- 
stand a  lee  without   saying  it  " — * 

"  Be  civil,"  interrupted  Colin  ;  "  a  lie  is 
strong  language,  especially  as  you  have  no 
right  whatever  to  question  her  so  closely.", 

"  I  said  nothing  about  lies,"  said  Lauder- 
dale; "  I  say  she  gives  me  to  understand  a 
lee  without  saying  a  word  that's  no  true, 
which  is  not  only  an  awfu'  civil  form  of  ex- 
pression on  my  part,  but  a  gift  of  woman- 
hood that,  so  far  as  I  ken,  is  just  unpar- 
alleled. If  it  werena  instinct,  it  would  be 
genius.  She  went  so  far  once  as  to  say,  in 
her  bit  fine  way,  that  they  were  not  quite 
happy  in  a'  their  connections :  '  There  are 
some  of  our  friendsthat  Arthur  can't  approve 
of,'  said  she,  which  was  enough  to  make  a 
man  laugh,  or  cry,  whichever  he  might  be 
disposed  to.  A  bonnie  judge  Authur  is, 
to  be  believed  in  like  that.  But  the  end  of 
the  whole  matter  is  that  I'm  convinced  the 
hot-headed  callant  has  carried  her  off  from 
her  home  without  anybody's  knowledge,  and 
that  it's  an  angry  father  you  and  me  will 
have  to  answer  to  when  we  are  left  her  pro- 
tectors, as  you  say." 

' '  I  hope  I  am  not  afraid  to  meet  anybody 
when  I  have  justice  on  my  side,"  said  Colin, 
loftily.  "  She  is  nothing  more  to  me  than 
any  other  helpless  woman  ;  but  I  will  do  my 
best  to  take  care  of  her  against  any  man 
whatsoever,  if  she  is  trusted  tome." 


160 

Lauderdale  laughed  with  mingled  exasper- 
ation and  amusement.  "  Bravo,"  he  said  ; 
"  the  like  of  that's  grand  talking  ;  but  I'll 
have  no  hand  for  my  part,  in  aiding  and  abet- 
ting domestic  treason.  I'm  far  from  easy  in 
my  mind  on  the  subject  ■altogether.  It's  ill  to 
vex  a  dying  man,  but  it  is  worse  to  let  a  spirit 
go  out  of  the  world  with  guilt  on  its  head  :  I'm 
in  an  awfu'  difficulty  whether  to  speak  to  him 
or  no.  If  you  would  but  come  down  off  your 
high  horse  and  give  me  a  little  assistance. 
It's  a  braw  business,  take  it  all  together. 
A  young  woman,  both  bonnie  and  good,  but 
abject  to  what  her  brother  bids  her  even  now 
when  he's  living,  and  us  two  single  men,  with 
nae  justification  for  meddling,  and  an  indig- 
nant father,  no  doubt,  to  make  an  account 
to.    It's  no  a  position  I  admire  for  my  part." 

"It  was  I  that  drew  you  into  it,"  said 
Colin,  with  some  resentment.  ■  After  all, 
they  were  my  friends  to  begin  with.  Don't 
let  me  bring  you  into  a  responsibility  which 
is  properly  mine." 

"Ay,  ay, "said  Lauderdale,  calmly,"  that's 
aye  the  way  with  you  callants.  If  a  man  sees 
a  difficulty  in  anything  concerning  you,  off 
you  fling,  and  will  have  no  more  to  do  with 
him.  I'm  no  one  to  be  dismissed  in  that 
fashion, — no  to  say  that  it  would  be  more  be- 
coming to  consider  the  difficulty,  like  reason- 
able creatures,  and  make  up  our  minds  how  it 
is  to  be  met." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Colin,  repent- 
ant ;  "  only,  to  be  sure,  the  imprudence,  if 
there  was  any  imprudence,  was  mine.  But  it 
is  hard  to  be  talking  in  this  manner,  as  if  all 
were  over,  while  Meredith  lives,  poor  fellow. 
Such  invalids  live  forever  sometimes.  There 
he  is,  for  a  miracle,  riding !  When  summer 
comes,  he  may  be  all  right." 

"  Ay,"  said  Lauderdale,  "  Imakenodoubt 
of  that ;  but  no  in  your  way.  He'll  be  better 
off  when  summer  comes."  Meredith  turned 
a  corner  close  upon  them  as  he  spoke.  He 
was  riding,  it  is  true,  but  only  on  a  mule, 
jogging  along  at  a  funeral  pace,  with  Alice 
walking  by  his  side.  He  smiled  when  he  met 
them  ;  but  the  smile  was  accompanied  by  a 
momentary  flush,  as  of  shame  or  pain. 

"The  last  step  but  one,"  he  said.  "I 
have  given  up  walking  forever.  I  did  not 
think  I  should  ever  have  come  to  this ;  but 
my  spirit  is  proud,  and  needs  to  be  mortified. 
Campbell,  come  here.  It  is  long  since  we 
have  had  any  conversation.     I  thought  God 


A    SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 


was  dealing  with  your  soul  when  I  last  talked 
to  you.  Tell  me,  if  you  were  as  far  gone  as 
I  am, — if  you  were  reduced  to  M?s," — and  the 
sick  man  laid  his  thin  white  hand  upon  the 
neck  of  the  animal  he  was  riding, — "  what 
consolation  would  you  have  to  keep  you  from 
sinking?  It  may  come  sooner  than  you 
think." 

"  It  is  not  easy  to  imagine  how  one  would 
conduct  one's  self  under  such  circumstances," 
said  Colin  ;  "let  us  talk  of  something  else. 
If  it  were  coming, — and  it  may  be,  for  any- 
thing I  can  tell, — I  think  I  should  prefer  not 
to  give  it  too  much  importance.  Look  at 
that  low  blaze  of  sunshine,  how  it  catches 
St.  Peter's.  These  sunsets  are  like  dramas  ; 
but  nobody  plans  the  grouping  beforehand," 
said  the  young  man,  with  an  involuntary  allu- 
sion which  he  was  sorry  for  the  next  moment, 
but  could  not  recall. 

"  That  is  an  unkind  speech,"  said  Mere- 
dith ;  "  but  I  forgive  you.  If  I  could  plan 
the  grouping,  as  you  say,  I  should  like  to 
collect  all  the  world  to  see  me  die.  Heathens, 
Papists,  Mahometans,  Christians  of  every  de- 
scription,— I  would  call  them  to  see  with  what 
confidence  a  Christian  could  travei'se  the 
dark  valley  knowing  Him  who  can  sustain, 
and  who  has  preceded  him  there." 

"  Yes,  that  was  Addison's  idea ;  but  his  was 
an  age  when  people  did  things  for  effect," 
said  Colin  :  "  and  everything  1  have  heard 
makes  me  believe  that  people  generally  die 
very  composedly  upon  the  whole.  We  who 
have  all  possible  assurances  and  consolations 
are  not  superior  in  that  respect  to  the  igno- 
rant and  stupid, — scarcely  even  to  the  wicked. 
Either  people  have  an  infinite  confidence  in 
themselves  and  their  good  fortune,  or  else  ab- 
solute faith  in  God  is  a  great  deal  more  gen- 
eral than  you  think  it.  I  should  like  to  be- 
lieve that  last  was  the  case.  Pardon  me  for 
what  I  said.  You  who  realize  so  strongly 
what  you  arc  going  to  should  certainly  die, 
when  that  time  comes,  a  glorious  and  joyful 
death." 

At  these  words  a  cloud  passed  over  the 
eager,  hectic  countenance  which  Meredith  had 
turned  to  his  friend.  "  Ah,  you  don't  know," 
he  said,  with  a  sudden  depression  which  Colin 
had  never  seen  in  him  before.  "  Sometimes 
God  sees  fit  to  abandon  his  servants  even  in 
that  hour  ;  what,  if  after  preaching  to  others 
I  should^myself  be  a  castaway  ? ''  This  con- 
versation was  going  on  while  Alice  talked  to 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


151 


Lauderdale  of  the  housekeeping,  and  how  the 
man  at  the  Trattoria  had  charged  a  ecudo  too 
much  in  the  last  weekly  bill. 

"  Meredith,"  said  Colin,  laying  his  hand 
on  his  friend's  arm,  and  forgetting  all  the 
discussion  with  Lauderdale  which  had  occu- 
pied the  afternoon,  "  when  you  say  such 
words  as  Father  and  Saviour,  you  put  some 
meaning  in  them;  do  you  not?  You  don't 
,think  -it  depends  upon  how  you  feel  to-day 
or  to-morrow  whether  God  will  stand  by  his 
children  or  not?  I  don't  believe  iu  the  cast- 
away as  you  understanfj  it," 

"Ah,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  afraid  you 
don't  believe  in  any  castaways  ;  don't  fall  into 
that  deadly  error  and  snare  of  the  devil,"  said 
the  sick  man. 
*  "We  must  not  discuss  mysteries,"  said 
Colin .  ' '  There  are  men  for  whom  no  punish- 
ment is  bad  enough,  and  whom  no  amount 
of  mercy  seems  to  benefit.  I  don't  know 
what  is  to  become  of  them.  For  my  own 
part,  I  prefer  not  to  inquire.  But  this  I 
knoio,  that  my  father,  much  less  my  mother, 
would  not  altogether  abandon  their  son  for 
any  crime  ;  and  does  not  God  love  us  better 
than  our  fathers  and  our  mothers?  "  said  Co- 
lin, with  a  moisture  gathering  in  his  brown 
eyes  and  brightening  his  smile.  A^  for  Mere- 
dith, he  snatched  his  hand  away,  and  pushed 
forward  with  a  feverish  impulse.  A  sound, 
half  sigh,  half  groan,  burst  from  him,  and 
Colin  could  see  that  this  inarticulate  com- 
plaint had  private  references  of  which  he 
knew  nothing.  Then  Lauderdale's  suggestion 
returned  to  his  mind  with  singular  force  ; 
but  it  was  not  a  time  to  make  any  inquiries, 
even  if  such  had  been  possible.  Instinctively, 
without  knowing  it,  Meredith  turned  from 
that  subject  to  the  only  other  which  could 
mutually  interest  men  so  unlike  each  other  : 
and  what  he  said  betrayed  distinctly  enough 
what  had  been  the  tenor  of  his  thoughts. 

'■'■She  has  no  mother,"  said  Meredith, 
with  a  little  wave  of  his  hand  towards  his 
sister.  "  Poor  Alice  !  But  I  have  no  doubt 
God  has  gracious  purposes  towards  her,"  he 
continued,  recovering  himself.  "  This  is  in 
the  family,  and  I  don't  doubt  she  will  follow 
me  soon." 

It  was  thus  he  disposed  of  the  matter  which 
for  the  strangers,  to  whose  care  he  was  about 
to  leave  her,  was  a  matter  of  so  much  anx- 
ious thought. 


CHAPTER  XXXIT. 

After  this  Meredith's  malady  made  grad- 
ual but  rapid  progress.  When  Colin  and 
his  friend  returned  from  Rome  in  the  even- 
ing, after  their  expeditions  there,  they  im- 
agined themselves  to  be  conscious  of  a  diflfer- 
ence  in  his  looks  even  from  the  morning. 
He  ceased  to  move  about ;  he  ceased  to  go 
out ;  finally,  he  ceased  to  get  up  from  his  bed. 
All  these  changes  were  accomplished  very 
gradually,  with  a  heartbreaking  regularity 
of  succession.  Alice,  who  was  constantly 
engaged  about  him,  doing  every  kind  of  ofiSce 
for  him,  was  fortunately  too  much  occupied 
to  take  full  recognizance  of  that  remorseless 
progress  of  decay ;  but  the  two  friends  who 
watched  it  with  eyes  less  urgent  than  those  of 
love,  yet  almost  more  painfully  pitii'ul,  could 
trace  all  the  little  advances  of  the  malady. 
Then  there  came  the  time,  the  last  stage  of 
all,  when  it  was  necessary  to  sit  up  with  him 
all  night, — an  office  which  Colin  and  Lauder- 
dale shared  between  them,  to  let  the  poor  lit- 
tle sister  have  a  little  reluctant  rest.  The 
season  had  warmed  into  May,  of  all  seasons 
the  sweetest  in  Italy.  To  see  the  sun  shine, 
it  seqacd  impossible  to  think  that  it  would 
not  shiiie  forever  ;  and  when  the  window  of* 
the  sick-room  was  opened  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, such  a  breath  of  life  and  happiness 
came  in — such  a  sweet  gust  of  air,  wild  from 
the  great  breadth  of  the  Campagna,  breath- 
ing of  dews  and  blossoms — as  felt  to  Colin's 
lips  like  an  elixir  of  life.  But  that 
breathing  balm  imparted  no  refreshment  to 
the  dying  man.  He  was  not  suffering  much  ; 
he  was  only  weary  to  the  bottom  of  his  soul, 
— languid  and  yet  restless,  eager  to  be  moved, 
yet  unable  to  bear  any  motion.  While  little 
Akce  withdrew  behind  them  for  a  chance  mo- 
ment to  shed  the  tears  that  kept  always  gath- 
ering, and  say  a  prayer  in  her  heart  for  her 
dying  brother, — a  prayer  in  which,  with  a 
child's  simplicity,  she  still  left  room  for  his 
restoration,  and  called  it  possible, — the  two 
others  watched  with  the  p^ofoundest  interest 
that  which  was  not  only  the  dying  of  a  friend, 
but  the  waning  of  a  life.  To  see  him  so  indi- 
vidual and  characteristic,  with  all  the  notable 
features  and  even  faults  of  his  mind  as  distinct 
and  apparent  as  if  he  had  been  in  the  strong-.- 
est  health,  and  yet  so  near  the  end,  was  the 
strangest  spectacle.  What  was  it  the  end  of? 
He  directed  them  all  from  hisdeath-b^d,  and. 


152 

indeed,  controlled  them  all  with  a  will  strong- 
er than  ever  before,  securing  his  own  way  in 
face  of  all  their  remonstrances,  and,  indeed, 
seemed  to  grow  more  and  more  strong,  abso- 
lute, and  important,  as  he  approached  the 
jSnal  stage  of  weakness,  which  is  a  sight  al- 
ways wonderful  to  sec.  lie  kept  on  writing 
his  book,  propped  up  upon  pillows,  as  long 
as  he  had  strength  enough  to  hold  the  pen  ; 
but  when  that  power,  too,  failed  him,  the  un- 
yielding soul  coerced  itself  into  accepting 
the  pen  of  another,  and  dictated  the  last 
chapter,  at  which  Alice  labored  during  the 
day,  and  which  occasionally,  to  beguile  the 
tedium  of  the  long  night-watches,  his  other 
attendants  were  permitted  to  carry  on.  The 
nights  grew  shorter  and  shorter  as  the  season 
advanced,  and  sometimes  it  was  by  the  lovely 
light  of  the  dawning  morning,  instead  of  the 
glimmer  of  the  lamp,  that  these  scattered 
sentences  were  written.  At  other  moments, 
when  the  patient  could  not  sleep,  but  was 
content  to  rest,  wonderful  scraps  of  conver- 
sation went  on  in  that  chamber  of  death. 
Meredith  lay  gaunt  and  wasted  among  his 
pillows, — his  great  eyes  filling  the  room,  as 
the  spectators  sometimes  thought  ;  agd  by 
his  bedside  sometimes  the  gigantic  figure  of 
Lauderdale^  dimly  visible  by  means  of  the 
faint  night-light, — sometimes  Colin's  young 
softened  face  and  air  of  tender  compassion. 
It  did  not  occur  to  any  of  the  three  to  ask  by 
what  right  they  came  together  in  relations  so 
near  and  sacred.  The  sick  man's  brothers, 
had  he  possessed  them,  could  not  have  watch- 
ed him  with  more  care,  or  with  less  doubt 
about  his  right  to  all  their  ministrations  ;  but 
they  talked  with  him  as  perhaps  no  brother 
could  have  talked, — recognizing  the  reality 
of  his  position,  and  even  discussing  it  as  a 
matter  in  which  they,  too,  had  the  profoundest 
interest.  The  room  was  bare  enough,  and 
contained  little  comfort  to  English  eyes, — un- 
carpeted,  with  bare  tiles  underneath  the  feet, 
and  scantily  furnished  with  an  old  sofa,  a 
chair  or  two,  and  a  table.  There  were  two 
windows,  which  looked  out  upon  that  Cam- 
pagna  which  the  dying  man  was  to  see  no 
more,  nor  cared  to  see.  But  that  great 
living  picture,  of  no  benefit  to  him,  was  the 
only  one  there  ;  for  poor  Meredith  had  him- 
self caused  to  be  taken  down  from  the  wall  a 
print  of  the  Madonna,  and  the  little  cross 
with  its  basin  for  holy  water  underneath, 
which  had  hung  at  the  head  of  his  bed.    lie 


A    SON    OP    THE    SOIL. 


had  even  sent  away  a  picture  of  the  Cruci- 
fixion,— a  bad,  yet  not  unimpressive  copy. 
"  I  want  no  outward  symbols,"  said  the  sick 
man  ;  "  there  will  be  none  where  I  am  go- 
ing," and  this  was  the  beginning  of  one  of 
those  strange  talks  by  night. 

"  It's  awfu'  difficult  to  ken,"  said  Lauder- 
dale. "  For  my  part  it's  a  great  wonder  to 
me  that  there  has  never  been  any  revelation 
worthy  of  credit  out  of  that  darkness.  That 
poor  fellow  Dives,  in  the  parable,  is  the  only 
man  I  mind  of  that  takes  a  Christian  view 
of  the  subject.  He  #ould  have  sent  one  to 
tell.  The  miracle  is,  that  nae  man  was  ever 
permitted  to  come." 

"  Don't  say  so,"  said  Meredith.  "  Oh, 
my  dear  friend  !  if  you  could  but  know  the 
joy  it  would  give  me  to  bring  you  to  Christ 
before  I  die, — to  see  you  accept  and  receive 
him.     Has  not  he  come  to  seek  and  to  save  ?  " 

"  Gallant,"  said  the  watcher,  with  a  long- 
drawn  breath,  "  I've  longer  acquaintance 
with  him  than  you  can  have  ;  and  if  I  didna 
believe  in  him,  I  would  hang  myself,  and  get 
to  an  explauution  of  all  things.  If  it  was 
not  for  him,  wherefore  should  I,  that  have 
nobody  dependent  on  me,  endure  the  mystery  ? 
But  that's  no  answer  to  my  question.  He 
came  to  put  a  meaning  to  the  world  that  has 
little  enough  signification  without  him,  but 
no  to  answer  a'  questions  that  a  human  spirit 
can  put  to  heaven  and  earth.  I've  heard  of 
bargains  made  between  them  that  were  to 
die  and  them  that  had  to  live." 

"  You  put  it  in  a  strange  way,  Lauder- 
dale," said  the  dying  man;  "most  people 
would  say,  those  who  had  to  die.  But  what 
can  any  one  want  beyond  what  is  revealed, — 
Jerusalem  the  golden  ?  How  strange  it  is  to 
think  that  a  worm  like  me  shall  so  soon  be 
treading  those  shining  streets,  while  you, — 
you  whom  the  -world  thinks  so  much  better 
ofi""— 

"  Whisht,"  said  Lauderdale,  with  a  husky 
voice.  "  Do  you  no  think  it  would  be  an 
awfu'  satisfaction  to  us  that  stay  behind  if 
we  could  have  but  a  glint  of  the  shining 
streets  you  speak  of?  Many  a  long  day  we'll 
strain  our  eyes  and  try  hard  to  see  you  there  ; 
but  a'  to  little  purpose.  I'm  no  saying  I 
would  not  take  it  on  trust  for  myself,  and  be 
content  with  what  God  pleased  ;  but  it's 
hard  to  part  with  them  that  belong  to  us, 
and  ken  nothing  about  them, — where  they 
are,  or  how  they  are." 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


"  They  are  in  heaven  !  If  they  were  chil- 
dren of  God,  they  are  with  him,"  said  the 
sick  man,  anxiously.  "  Lauderdale,  1  can- 
not bear  to  think  that  you  do  not  believe, — 
tfiat  perhaps  I  may  not  meet  you  there." 

"Maybe  no,"  said  the  philosopher; 
*•  there's  the  awfu'  question.  A  man  might 
go  ranging  about  the  shining  streets  (as  you 
say)  forever,  and  never  find  them  that  be- 
longed to  him  ;  or,  if  there's  no  geographical 
limits,  there  may  be  others  harder  to  pass. 
It's  awfu'  -little  comfort  I  can  get'for  my  own 
mind  out  of  shining  streets.  How  am  I  to 
picture  you  to  myself,  callant,  when  I  take 
thoughts  of  you  ?  I  have  the  fancy  in  my 
mind  to  give  you  messages  to  friends  I  have 
away  yonder  ;  but  how  can  I  tell  if  you'll 
ever  see  them  ?  It's  no  a  question  of  believ- 
ing or  not  believing.  I  put  little  faith  in 
Milton,  and  none  in  the  good  books,  from 
which  two  sources  we  draw  a  great  part  of 
our  talk  about  heaven.  It's  no  even  to  ken 
if  they're  happy  or  no  happy  that  troubles 
me.  I've  nae  hesitation  to  speak  of  in  leav- 
ing that  in  God's  hand.  It's  but  to  have  an 
inkling  ever  so  slight  where  ye  are,  and  how 
you  are,"  said  Lauderdale,  unconsciously 
changing  his  pronouns,  "  and  that  ye  keep 
thought  of  us  that  spend  so  many  thoughts 
on  you." 

After  this  there  was  a  little  pause,  which 
fell  into  the  perfect  stillness  of  the  night 
outside,  and  held  the  little  dim-lighted  cham- 
ber in  the  midst  of  all  the  darkness,  like  the 
picture  of  a  shadowy  "  interior,"  with  two 
motionless  figures,  the  living  and  the  dying, 
painted  upon  the  great  gloom  of  night.  Mer- 
edith, who,  notwithstanding  the  superior  in- 
tensity of  his  own  thoughts,  had  been  moved 
by  Lauderdale's, — and  who,  used  as  he  was 
to  think  himself  dying,  yet  perhaps  heard 
himself  thus  unconsciously  reckoned  among 
the  dead  with  a  momentary  thrill, — was  the 
first  to  speak. 

"  In  all  this  I  find  you  too  vague,"  said 
the  patient.  "You  speak  about  heaven  as 
if  you  were  uncertain  only  of  its  aspect ;  you 
have  no  anxiety  about  the  way  to  get  there. 
My  fritod,  you  are  very  good  to  me, — you 
are  excellent,  so  far  as  this  world  goes ;  I 
know  you  are.  But,  oh,  Lauderdale,  think  ! 
Our  righteousnesses  are  as  filthy  rags.  Be- 
fore you  speculate  about  heaven,  ask  yourself 
are  you  sure  to  get  there  !  " 

"Ay,"  said  Lauderdale,  vaguely,  "it's 


153 

maybe  a  wee  like  the  question  of  the  Saddu- 
cees, — I'm  no  saying  ;  and  it's  awfu',  the 
dead  blanfc  of  wisdom  and  knowledge  that's 
put  forth  for  a  response, — no  any  informa- 
tion to  you  ;  nothing  but  a  quenching  of 
your  flippant  questions  and  impident  preten- 
sions. No  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage 
there,  and  the  curious  fools  baffled,  but  nae 
light  thrown  upon  the  darkness  !  I'll  have 
to  wait  like  other  folk  for  my  answer  ;  but, 
if  it's  according  to  your  new  nature  and  fac- 
ulties,— which  surely  it  must  be, — you'll 
not  forget  to  give  us  a  thought  at  times. 
If  you  feel  a  wee  lonely  at  the  first, — I'm  no 
profane,  callant ;  you're  but  a  man  when 
a's  done,  or  rather  a  laddie,  and  you'll  surely 
miss  your  friends, — dinna  forget  how  long 
and  Jjow  often  we'll  think  of  you." 

"  Shall  you  ?"  said  the  dying  man.  "I 
have  given  you  nothing  but  trouble  ever 
since  I  knew  you,  and  it  is  more  than  I  de- 
serve. But  there  is  One  who  is  worthy  of 
all  your  thoughts.  When  you  think  of  me, 
oh,  love  him,  my  dear  friend,  and  so  there 
will  be  a  bond  between  us  still." 

"  Ay,"  said  Lauderdale  once  more.  It 
was  a  word  he  used  when  his  voice  could  not 
be  trusted,  and  his  heart  was  full.  "  Ay," 
he  repeated,  after  a  long  pause,  "  I'll  no 
neglect  that  grand  bond.  It's  a  bargain  be- 
tween you  and  me  no  to  be  broken.  If  ye 
were  free  for  such  an  act,  it  would  be  awfu' 
friendly  to  bring  me  word  how  things  are," 
he  continued,  in  a  low  tone,  "  though  it's 
folly  to  ask ;  for  if  it  had  been  possible  it 
would  have  been  done  before  now." 

"  It  is  God  who  must  teach  and  not  me," 
said  the  dying  man.  "  He  has  other  instru- 
ments,— and  you  must  seek  him  for  yourself, 
and  let  him  reveal  his  will  to  you.  If  you 
are  faithful  to  God's  service,  he  will  relieve 
you  of  your  doubts,"  said  Arthur,  who  did 
not  understand  his  friend's  mind,  but  even 
at  that  solemn  moment  looked  at  him  with  a 
perplexed  mixture  of  disapproval  and  com- 
passion. And  thus  the  silence  fell  again  like 
a  curtain  over  the  room,  and  once  more  it 
became  a  picture  faintly  painted  on  the  dark- 
ness, faintly  relieved  and  lighted  up  by 
t^^hes  of  growing  light,  till  at  length  the 
morning  came  in  full  and  fair,  finding  out,  as 
with  a  sudden  surprise,  the  ghostly  face  on 
the  pillow,  with  its  great  eyes  closed  in  dis- 
turbed  sleep,  and  by  the  bedside  another  face 
scarcely  less  motionless, — the  face  of  the  man 


164 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


who  was  no  unbeliever,  but  whose  heart 
longed  to  know  and  see  what  others  were 
content  in  vague  generalities  to  tell  of,  and 
Bay  they  believed. 

This  was  one  of  the  conversations  held  in 
the  dead  of  night  in  Meredith's  room.  Next 
evening  it  was  Colin,  reluctantly  permitted 
by  his  faithful  guardian  to  share  this  labor, 
who  took  the  watcher's  place  ;  and  then  the 
two  young  men,  who  were  so  near  of  an  age, 
but  whose  prospects  were  so  strongly  differ- 
ent, talked  to  each  other  after  a  different 
fashion.  Both  on  the  brink  of  the  world, 
and  with  incalculable  futures  before  them, 
it  was  natural  they  should  discuss  the  objects 
and  purposes  of  life,  upon  which  Meredith, 
who  thought  himself  matured  by  death,  had, 
as  he  imagined,  so  much  advantage  ovea*  his 
friend,  who  was  not  going  to  die. 

"  I  remember  once  thinking  as  you  do," 
said  the  dying  man.  "  The  world  looked  so 
beautiful !  No  man  ever  loved  its  vanities 
and  its  pomp  more  than  I.  I  shudder  some- 
times to  think  what  would  become  of  me  if 
God  had  left  me  to  myself;  but  he  was  more 
merciful.  I  see  things  in  their  true  light 
now." 

"  You  will  have  a  great  advantage  over 
me,"  said  Colin,  trying  to  smile;  "  for  you 
will  always  know  the  nature  of  my  occupa- 
tions, while  yours  will  be  a  mystery  to  me. 
But  we  can  be  friends  all  the  same.  As  for 
me,  I  shall  not  have  many  pomps  and  vani- 
ties to  distract  me, — a  poor  man's  son  ;  and 
a  Scotch  minister  does  not  fall  in  the  way  of 
such  temptations." 

"  There  are  temptations  to  worldliness  in 
every  sphere,"  said  Meredith.  "  You  once 
spoke  eagerly  about  going  to  Oxford  and 
taking  honors.  My  dear  friend,  trust  a  dy- 
ing man.  There  are  no  honors  worth  think- 
ing of  but  the  crown  and  the  palm,  which 
Christ  bestows  on  them  that  love  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Colin  ;  "  but  we  are  not  all 
chosen  for  these.  If  I  have  to  live,  I  must 
qualify  myself  the  best  I  can  for  my  work.  I 
should  like  to  be  of  a  little  use  to  Scotland, 
if  that  were  nossible.  When  I  hear  the  poor 
people  here  singing  their  vespers  " — 

"  Ah,  Campbell !  one  word — letmespeaC," 
said  his  friend.  ' '  Alice  showed  me  the  poem 
you  had  given  her.  You  don't  mean  it,  I 
know  ;  but  let  me  beg  you  not  to  utter  such 
sentiments.    You  seem  to  consent  to  the  doc- 


trine of  purgatory,  one  of  the  worst  delu- 
sions of  the  Church  of  Rome.  There  are  no 
spirits  in  prison,  my  dear,  dear  friend. 
When  I  leave  you,  I  shall  be  with  my  Sav- 
iour. Don't  give  your  countenance  to  such 
inventions  of  the  devil." 

'•  That  was  not  what  I  intended  tQ  say," 
said  Colin,  who  had  no  heart  for  argument. 
"  I  meant  that  to  see  the  habit  of  devotion  of 
all  these  people,  whom  we  call  so  ignorant, 
and  to  remember  how  little  we  have  of  that 
among  our  own  people,*  whom  we  consider 
enlightened,  goes  to  my  heart.  I  should  like 
to  do  a  priest's  duty." 

"  Again  !  "  said  Meredith  "  Dear  Camp- 
bell, you  will  be  a  minister  ;  there  is  but  one 
great  High  Priest." 

"  Yes,"  said  Colin,  "  most  true,  and  the 
greatest  of  all  consolations.  But  yet  I  be- 
lieve in  priests  inferior, — priests  who  need  be 
nothing  more  than  men.  I  am  not  so  much 
for  teaching  as  you  are,  you  know  ;  I  have 
80  little  to  teach  any  man.  With  you  who 
are  going  to  the  Fount  of  all  knowledge  it 
will  be  different.  I  can  conceive,  I  can  im- 
agine, how  magnificent  may  he  your  work," 
the  young  man  said,  with  his  voice  faltering, 
as  he  laid  his  warm  young  hand  upon  the 
fingers  which  were  almost  dead. 

Meredith  closed  his  hand  upon  that  of  his 
friend,  and  looked  at  him  with  his  eyes  so 
clear  and  awful,  enlarged  and  lighted  up  with 
the  prescience  of  what  was  to  come.  *'  If 
you  do  your  work  faithfully,  it  will  be  the 
same  work,"  he  said.  "Our  Master  alone 
knows  the  particulars.  If  I  might  have  per- 
haps to  supplement  and  complete  what  you 
do  on  earth  ! — Ah,  but  I  must  not  be  tempt- 
ed into  vain  speculations!  Enough  that  I 
shall  know  his  will  and  see  him  as  he  is.  I 
desire  no  more." 

"Amen,"  said  Colin;  "and  when  you 
are  in  your  new  career,  think  of  me  some- 
times, worried  and  vexed  as  I  know  I  shall 
be.  We  shall  not  be  able  to  communicate 
then  ;  but  I  know  now  beforehand  what  I 
shall  have  to  go  through.  You  don't  know 
Scotland,  Meredith.  A  man  who  tries  any 
new  reformation  in  the  church  will  liave  to 
fight  for  trifles  of  detail  which  are  not  worth 
fighting  for,  and  perhaps  got  both  himself  and 
his  work  degraded  in  consequence.  You  will 
know  no  such  cares.  Think  of  me  some- 
times when  you  are  doing  your  work  *  with 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


155 


thunders  of  acclaim.'      I  wonder — but  you 
would  think  it  a  profanity  if  I   said  what 
was  going  to  say." 

"  What  was  it?  "  said  Meredith,  who,  in- 
deed, would  not  have  been  sorry  had  his 
friend  uttered  a  profanity  which  might  give 
him  occasion  to  speak,  for  perhaps  the  last 
time,  "  faithfully  "  to  his  soul. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Colin,  whose  voice  was 
low,  "  whether  our  Master,  who  sees  us  both, 
though  we  cannot  see  each  other,  might  tell 
you  sometimes  what  your  friend  was  doing. 
He,  too,  is  a  man.  I  mean  no  irreverence, 
Meredith.  There  were  men  for  whom,  above 
his  tenderness  for  all,  he  had  a  special  love. 
I  should  like  to  think  it.  I  can  know  noth- 
ing of  you  ;  but  then  I  am  less  likely  to  for- 
get you,  staying  behind  in  this  familiar 
world." 

And  the  two  youths  again  clasped  hands, 
tears  filling  the  eyes  of  the  living  one,  but 
no  moisture  in  the  clear  orbs  of  him  who 
was  about  to  die. 

"  Let  us  be  content  to  leave  it  all  in  his 
hands,"  said  Meredith.  "  God  bless  you, 
Colin,  for  your  love  ;  but  think  nothing  of 
me, — think  of  him  who  is  our  first  and  great- 
est Friend." 

And  then  again  came  silence  and  sleep, 
and  the  night  throbbed  silently  round  the 
lighted  chamber  and  the  human  creatures 
full  of  thought,  and  again  took  place  the 
perennial  transformation,  the  gradual  rising 
of  the  morning  light,  the  noiseless  entrance 
of  the  day,  finding  out,  with  surprised  and 
awful  looks,  the  face  of  the  dying.  This  is 
how  the  last  nights  were  spent.  Down  be- 
low in  the  convent  there  was  a  good  friar, 
who  watched  the  light  in  the  window,  and 
pondered  much  in  his  mind  whether  he 
should  not  go  thither  with  his  crucifix,  and 
save  the  poor  young  heretic  in  spite  of  him- 
self ;  but  the  Frate  was  well  aware  that  the 
English  resented  such  interruptions,  and  did 
better  for  Arthur  ;  for  he  carried  the  thought 
of  him  through  all  his  devotions,  and  mut- 
tered under  his  breath  the  absolution,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  lighted  window,  and 
prayed,  if  he  had  any  credit  in  heaven  through 
the  compassionate  saints,  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
and  by  the  aid  of  Him  whose  image  he  held 
up  towards  the  unseen  sufierer,  that  the  sins 
which  God's  servant  had  thus  remitted  on 
earth  might  be,  even  without  the  knowledge 
of  the  penitent,  remitted  in  heaven.    Thus  j 


Colin's  belief  in  priests  was  justified  without 
his  knowing  it ;  and  perhaps  God  judged  the 
intercession  of  Father  Francisco  more  ten- 
derly than  poor  Arthur  would  have  done. 
And  with  these  private  proceedings,  which 
the  world  was  unaware  of,  night  after  night 
passed  on  until  the  night  came  which  was  to 
have  no  day. 

They  had  all  assembled  in  the  room,  in 
which  it  seemed  before  morning  so  great  an 
event  was  to  happen, — all  worn  and  tired  out 
with  watching  ;  the  evidences  of  which  ap- 
peared upon  Colin  and  Alice,  though  Lauder- 
dale, more  used  to  exertion,  wore  his  usual 
aspect.  As  usual,  Meredith  lay  very  solemnly 
in  a  kind  of  pathetic  youthful  state  in  his 
bed, — struggling  for  every  breath,  yet  never 
forgetting  that  he  lay  there  before  heaven 
and  earth,  a  monument,  as  he  said,  of  God's 
grace,  and  an  example  of  how  a  Christian 
could  die.  He  called  Alice,  and  the  others 
would  have  withdrawn  ;  but  this  he  would 
not  permit.  "  We  have  no  secrets  to  discuss," 
he  said.  "  I  am  not  able  to  say  much  now. 
Let  my  last  words  be  for  Christ.  Alice,  you 
are  the  last.  We  have  all  died  of  it.  It  is 
not  very  hard  ;  but  you  cannot  die  in  peace, 
as  I  do,  unless  you  give  yourself  to  Christ. 
These  are  my  last  words  to  my  sister.  You 
may  not  live  long  ;  you  have  not  a  moment 
to  spare.  Give  yourself  to  Christ,  my  little 
Alice,  and  then  your  death-bed  will  be  as 
peaceful  as  mine." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  docile  sister,  through  her 
sobs,  "  I  will  never,  never  forget  what  you 
have  said  to  me.  Oh,  Arthur,  you  are  going 
to  them  all  !  " 

"I  am  going  to  God,"  said  the  dying 
man  ;  "  I  am  going  to  my  Lord  and  Saviour ; 
that  is  all  I  desire  to  think  of  now." 

And  there  was  a  momentary  breathless 
pause.  She  had  his  hand  in  both  of  hers, 
and  was  crying  with  an  utter  despair  and 
abandonment  to  which  she  had  never  given 
herself  up  before.  "  Oh,  Arthur, — papa  !  " 
the  poor  girl  said,  under  her  breath.  If  they 
had  been  less  interested,  or  if  the  stillness 
had  been  a  degree  less  intense,  the  voice  was 
so  low  that  the  two  other  watchers  could  not 
have  heard  her.  But  the  answer  was  spoken 
aloud. 

'  Tell  him  I  forgive  him,   Alice.     I   can 
so  now.     Tell  him  to  repent  while  there 
is  time.     If  you  wish  it,  you  can  tell  Colin 
and  Lauderdale ;  they  have  been  brothers  to 


156 

UB.  Come  here,  all  of  you,"  said  Meredith. 
"  Hear  my  last  words.  Nothing  is  of  any 
importance  but  tlic  love  of  Christ.  I  have 
tried  evei'y thing  in  the  world, — its  pleasures 
and  its  ambitions — and —  But  everything 
except  Christ  is  vanity.  Come  to  him  while 
it  is  called  to-day.  And  now  come  and  kiss 
me,  Alice  ;  for  I  am  going  to  die." 

"  Oh,  no,  Arthur.  Oh,  Arthur,  do  not 
leave  me  yet !  "  cried  the  poor  girl.  Lau- 
derdale drew  her  gently  away,  and  signed  to 
Colin  to  take  the  place  by  the  bed.  He  drew 
her  hand  through  his  arm  and  led  her  softly 
into  the  great  empty  salonc,  where  there  was 
no  light  except  thatof  the  moon,  which  came 
in  in  broad  white  bars  at  the  side  windows. 
"  Whist !  it'll  no  be  yet,"  said  the  kind 
guardian  who  had  taken  possession  of  Alice. 
No  mother  or  lover  could  have  been  tenderer 
with  the  little  forlorn  creature  in  this  hour 
which  was  the  most  terrible  of  all.  He 
made  her  walk  softly  about  with  him,  beguil- 
ing her  awful  suspense  a  little  with  that 
movement.  "  A  little  more  strength,  for 
his  sake,"  said  Lauderdale;  "another  trial 
— and  then  nobody  shall  stop  your  tears. 


A    SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 


It!s  for  his  sake  ;  the  last  thing  you  can  do 
for  him." 

And  then  the  poor  little  sister  gave  utter- 
ance to  a  bitter  cry.  "  If  he  would  say  some- 
thing kind  for  papa,  I  would  not  care,"  she 
said,  smothering  her  painful  sobs;  and  Lau- 
derdale drew  her  closer  on  his  arm,  support- 
ing and  soothing  her,  and  led  her  about, 
slowly  and  noiselessly,  in  the  great  empty 
room,  lighted  with  those  broad  bars  of  moon- 
light, waiting  till  she  had  regained  a  little 
composure  to  return  to  the  chamter  of 
death. 

Meredith  lay  silent  for  some  time,  with 
his  great  eyes  gazing  into  the  vacancy  before 
him,  and  the  last  thrill  of  fever  in  his  frame. 
He  thought  he  was  thus  coming  with  all 
his  faculties  alert  and  vivid  to  a  direct  con- 
scious encounter  with  the  unknown  might  of 
death.  "  Get  the  book,  Colin,"  he  said, 
with  a  voice  which  yet  possessed  a  certain 
nervous  strength  ;  "  it  is  now  the  time  to 
write  the  conclusion  ;  "  and  he  dictated 
with  a  steady  voice  the  date  of  his  last  post- 
script :  "  Frascati,  Midnight,  May  16th. — 
The  last  hour  of  my  life  " — 


PART  XII. — CHAPTER  XXXV 


Meredith  died  the  next  day,  after  a  strug- 
gle longer  and  harder  than  could  have  been 
anticipated,  and  very  differently  from  the 
manner  in  which,  v^hen  he  dictated  his  last 
message  to  the  world,  he  expected  to  die. 
Few  human  creatures  are  strong  enough,  ex- 
cept in  books,  to  march  thus  solemnly  and 
statelily  to  the  edge  of  the  grave.  The  last 
event  itself  was  twenty-four  hours  later  than 
the  anxious  watchers  expected  it  to  be,  and 
wore  them  all  out  more  utterly  than  any  pre- 
vious part  of  their  patient's  lingering  illness. 
He  dictated  his  postscript,  lying  in  great  ex- 
haustion, but  solemn,  calm,  not  without  a 
certain  pomp  of  conscious  grandeur,  victori- 
ous over  death  and  the  grave.  "  That  great 
angel  whom  men  call  the  last  enemy  is  stand- 
ing by  my  bedside,"  the  dying  man  said, 
giving  forth  his  last  utterance  slowly  word 
by  word.  "In  an  hour  I  shall  be  clay  and 
ashes.  I  send  you,  friends,  this  last  message. 
Death  is  not  terrible  to  those  who  love  Christ. 
I  feel  a  strength  in  me  that  is  not  my  own. 
I  had  fears  and  doubts,  but  I  have  them  no 
longer.  The  gates  of  heaven  are  opening.  I 
close  my  eyes,  for  I  can  no  longer  see  the 
lights  of  this  world  ;  when  I  open  them  again, 
it  will  be  to  behold  the  face  of  my  Lord. 
Amen.  This  1  say  to  all  the  world  with  my 
last  breath.  For  those  who  love  Christ  it  is 
not  hard  to  die." 

Colin,  who  wrote  the  words,  trembled  over 
them  with  a  weakness  like  a  woman's  ;  but 
Meredith's  broken  and  interrupted  voice  was 
shaken  only  by  the  last  pangs  of  mortality, 
not  by  any  faltering  of  the  spirit.  "  I  tell 
you,  Colin,  it  is  not  hard,"  he  said,  and 
smiled  upon  his  friend,  and  composed  him- 
self to  meet  the  last  encounter  ;  but  such  was 
not  the  end.  The  long  night  lingered  on, 
and  the  dying  man  dozed  a  little,  and  woke 
again  less  dignified  and  composed.  Then 
jame  the  weary  morning,  with  its  dreadful 
daylight,  which  made  the  heart  sick,  and  then 
a  long  day  of  dying,  terrible  to  behold,  per- 
haps not  so  hard  to  bear.  The  two  who  were 
his  brothers  at  this  dreadful  moment  exer- 
cised all  their  power  to  keep  Alice  out  of  the 
room  where  this  struggle  was  going  on  ;  but 
the  gentle  little  girl  was  a  faithful  woman, 
and  kept  her  place.  He  had  had  his  moment 
of  conscious  victory,  but  now  in  its  turn  the 
human  soul  was  vanquished.  He  became 
unconscious  of  their  consoling  presence,  con- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL  157 

scions  of  nothing  but  the  awful  restlessness, 
the  intolerable  languor  and  yet  more  intoler- 


able nervous  strength  which  kept  him  alive 
in  spite  of  himself;  and  then  the  veiled  and 
abstracted  spirit  awoke  to  matters  of  which, 
when  in  full  possession  of  his  faculties,  Ar- 
thur had  made  no  mention.  He  began  to 
murmur  strange  words  as  he  lay  tossing  in 
that  last  struggle.  "Tell  my  father,"  he 
said  once  or  twice,  but  never  finished  the 
message.  That  death  so  clear  and  conscious, 
for  which  he  had  hoped,  was  not  granted 
to  him ;  and,  when  at  last  the  deliverance 
came,  even  Alice,  on  her  knees  by  the  bed- 
side, felt  in  her  desolation  a  moment's  relief. 
It  was  almost  dawn  of  the  second  morning 
when  they  raised  her  up  and  led  her  tenderly 
away  to  Sora  Antonia,  the  kind  Italian  wo- 
man, who  waited  outside.  Colin  was  scarcely 
less  overwhelmed  than  she.  The  young  man 
sank  down  by  the  table  where,  on  the  pre- 
vious night  he  had  been  Arthur's  secretary, 
and  almost  fainting  dropped  his  head  upon 
the  book  which  still  lay  open  there.  Twenty- 
four  hours  onlv  of  additional  hard  labor  added 
on  to  the  ending  life  ;  but  it  looked  as  many 
years  to  the  young,  inexperienced  spirit 
which  had  thus,  for  the  first  time,  followed 
another,  so  far  as  a  spectator  can,  through 
the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.  Lauder- 
dale, who  knew  better,  and  upon  whose 
greater  strength  this  dreadful  strain  of  watch- 
ing had  made  a  less  visible  impression,  had 
to  do  for  Colin  what  the  kind  peasant  woman 
was  doing  for  the  desolate  sister, — to  take 
him  away  from  the  chamber  of  death,  and 
make  him  lie  down,  and  put  aside  altogether 
his  own  sensations  on  behalf  of  the  younger 
and  more  susceptible  sufferer.  All  that  had 
to  be  done  fell  on  Lauderdale ;  he  made  the 
necessary  arrangements  with  a  self-command 
which  nothing  disturbed,  and  when  the  bright, 
cloudless  day  had  advanced,  and  he  could  sat- 
isfy himself  that  both  the  young,  worn-out 
creatures,  who  were  his  children  for  the  mo- 
ment, had  got  the  momentary  solace  of  sleep, 
as  was  natural,  he  threw  himself  into  poor 
Arthur's  arm-chair  and  pondered  with  a^ 
troubled  countenance  on  all  that  might  fol* 
low.  There  he,  too,  slept  and  dozed,  as  Sora 
Antonia  went  softly  to  and  fro,  moved  with 
pity.  She  had  said  her  rosary  for  Arthur 
many  a  morning,  and  had  done  all  she  could 
to  interest  in  his  behalf  that  good  St.  Antonio 
of  Padua,  who  was  so  charitable,  and  per- 


158 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


haps  might  not  be  so  particular  about  a  mat- 
ter of  doctrine  as  St.  Paul  or  St.  Peter ;  for 
Sora  Antonia  was  kind  to  the  bottom  of  her 
heart,  and  could  not  bear  to  think  of  more 
than  a  thousand  yec^rs  or  so  of  purgatory  for 
the  poor,  young  heretic.  "  The  signorino 
was  English  and  knew  no  better,"  she  said 
to  her  patron  saint,  and  comforted  herself 
with  the  thought  that  the  blessed  Antonio 
would  not  fail  to  attend  to  her  recommenda- 
tion, and  that  she  had  done  the  best  she  could 
for  her  lodger  ;  and  out  of  the  room  where 
Alice  slept  the  deep  sleep  of  exhaustion  the 
good  woman  made  many  voyages  into  the  si- 
lent salonc,  where  the  shutters  were  closed 
upon  the  bare  windows,  though  the  trium- 
phant sun  streamed  in  at  every  crevice.  She 
looked  at  Lauderdale,  who  dozed  in  the  great 
chair,  with  curious  looks  of  speculation  and 
inquiry.  He  looked  old  and  gray,  thus 
sleeping  in  the  daylight,  and  the  traces  of 
exhaustion  in  such  a  face  as  his  were  less 
touching  than  the  lines  in  Alice's  gentle 
countenance  or  the  fading  of  Colin's  bright- 
ness. He  was  the  only  member  of  the  party 
who  looked  responsible  to  the  eyes  of  Sora 
Antonia  ;  and  already  she  had  a  little  ro- 
mance in  hand,  and  wondered  much  whether 
this  uncle,  or  elder  brother,  or  guardian, 
would  be  favorable  to  her  young  people. 
Thus,  while  the  three  watchers  found  a  mo- 
ment's sad  rest  after  their  long  vigil,  new 
hopes  and  thoughts  of  life  already  began  to 
play  about  them  unawares.  The  world  will 
not  stand  still  even  to  see  the  act  of  death 
accomplished ;  and  the  act  of  death  itself,  if 
Arthur  was  right  in  his  hopes, — had  not  that 
already  opened  its  brighter  side  upon  the  sol- 
itary soul  which  had  gone  forth  alone  ? 

The  day  after  everything  was  finally  over 
was  Sunday, — the  gayest  and  brightest  of 
summer  festal  days.  Colin  and  Lauderdale, 
who  had  on  the  day  before  carried  their 
friend  to  his  grave,  met  each  other  sadly  at 
the  table,  where  it  was  so  strange  to  take  up 
again  the  common  thread  of  life  as  though 
Arthur  Meredith  had  never  had  any  share  in 
Jt.  It  was  Sunday  under  its  brightest  as- 
li|)ect ;  the  village  was  very  gay  outside,  and 
neither  of  them  felt  capable  of  introducing 
their  sombre  shadows  into  the  flowery  and 
sunny  fcsta,  the  gayety  of  which  jarred  upon 
their  sadness,  and  they  had  no  heart  to  go 
about  their  usual  occupations  within.  When 
they  had  swallowed  their  cofiFce  together,  they 


I  withdrew  from  each  other  into  different  cor- 
jners,  and  tried  to  read,  which  was  the  only 
employment  possible.  Lauderdale,  for  his 
part,  in  his  listlessness  and  fatigue,  went  to 
rummage  among  some  books  which  a  former 
•  occupant  had  left,  and  brought  from  among 
j  them — the  strangest  choice  for  him  to  make 
— a  French  novel,  a  kind  of  production  utter- 
ly unknown  to  him.  The  chances  are,  he 
had  forgotten  it  was  Sunday  ;  for  his  Scotch 
■  prejudices,  though  he  held  them  lightly  in 
j  theory,  still  held  him  fast  in  practice. 
When,  however,  he  had  pored  over  it  vague- 
ly for  half  an  hour  (for  reading  French  was 
a  laborious  amusement  to  the  imperfectly  in- 
structed scholar),  Colin  was  roused  out  of 
studies  which  he,  too,  pursued  with  a  very 
divided  attention,  by  a  sudden  noise,  and 
saw  the  little  yellow  volume  spin  through 
the  air  out  of  his  friend's  vigorous  fingers, 
and  drop  ignominiously  in  a  corner.  •'  Me 
to  be  reading  stuff  like  that !  "  said  Lauder- 
dale, with  grim  accents  of  self-disgust ;  "  and 
him  may  be  near  to  see  what  a  fool  is  doing !  " 
As  he  said  this,  he  got  up  from  his  chair, 
and  began  to  pace  about  the  quiet,  lonely 
room,  violently  endeavoring  to  recover  the 
composure  which  he  had  not  been  able  to 
preserve.  Though  he  was  older  and  stronger 
than  the  others,  watching  and  grief  had  told 
upon  his  strength  also  ;  and  in  the  glory  of 
the  summer  morning  which  blazed  all  round 
and  about,  the  soul  of  this  wayfaring  man 
grew  sick  within  him.  Something  like  a  sob 
sounded  into  the  silence.  "I'm  no  asking 
if  he's  happy,"  Lauderdale  burst  forth  ;  "  I 
cannot  feel  as  if  I  would  esteem  him  the  same 
if  he  felt  nothing  but  joy  to  get  away.  You're 
a'  infidels  and  unbelievers  alike,  with  your 
happiness  and  your  heaven.  I'm  no  saying 
that  it's  less  than  the  supreme  joy  to  see  the 
face  he  hoped  to  see ;  but  joy's  no  inconsist- 
ent with  pain.  Will  you  tell  me  the  cal- 
lant,  having  a  heart  as  you  know  he  had, 
can  think  of  us  mourning  for  him  and  no 
care  ?  Dinna  speak  of  such  inhuman  imagi- 
nations to  me." 

"  No,"  said  Colin,  softly.  "  But  worst 
of  all  would  be  to  think  he  was  here,"  the 
young  man  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  un- 
able to  communicate  with  us  anyhow,  by 
whatsoever  effort.  Don't  think  so,  Lauder- 
dale ;  that  is  the  most  inhuman  imagination 
of  all." 

"  I'm  no  so  clear  of  that,"  said  the  phi- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


losopher,  subduing  his  hasty  steps  ;  "  nae 
doubt  there  would  be  a  pang  in  it,  especially 
when  there  was  information  like  that  to  be- 
stow ;  but  it's  hard  to  tell,  in  our  leemited 
condition,  a'  the  capabilities  of  a  soul.  It 
might  be  a  friend  close  by,  and  no  yoursel', 
that  put  your  best  thought  in  your  head, 
though  you  saw  him  not.  I  wouldna  say 
that  I  would  object  to  that.  It's  all  a  ques- 
tion of  temperament,  and,  maybe,  age,"  he 
continued,  calming  himself  entirely  down, 
and  taking  a  seat  beside  Colin  in  the  win- 
dow. "  The  like  of  you  expects  response, 
and  has  no  conception  of  life  without  it ;  but 
the  like  of  me  can  be  content  without  re- 
sponse," said  Colin's  guardian  ;  and  then  he 
regarded  his  companion  with  eyes  in  which 
the  love  was  veiled  by  a  grave  mist  of  medi- 
tation. "  I  would  not  object  to  take  the 
charge  of  you  in  such  a  manner,"  he  said, 
slowly.  "But  it's  awfu'  easy  to  dream 
dreams, — if  anything  on  this  earth  could  but 
make  a  man  knoio  ' ' — and  then  there  fol- 
lowed another  pause.  "He  was  awfu' 
pleased  to  teach,"  Lauderdale  said,  with  an 
unsteady  smile.  "It's  strange  to  think 
what  should  hinder  him  speaking  now, 
when  he  has  such  news  to  tell.  I  never 
could  make  it  out,  for  my  part.  Whiles  my 
mind  inclines  to  the  thought  that  it  must  be 
a  peaceable  sleep  that  wraps  them  a'  till  the 
great  day,  which  would  account  for  the 
awfu'  silence  ;  but  there's  some  things  that 
go  against  that.  That's  what  makes  me  most 
indignant  at  thae  idiots  with  their  spirit-rap- 
ping and  gibberish.  Does  ony  mortal  with 
a  heart  within  his  bosom  dare  to  think  that, 
if  love  doesna  open  their  sealed  lips,  any 
power  in  the  world  can?  "  cried  the  philoso- 
pher, whose  emotion  again  got  beyond  his 
control.  He  got  up  again,  and  resumed  his 
melancholy  march  up  and  down  the  room. 
"It's  an  awfu'  marvel,  beyond  my  reach," 
he  said,  "  when  a  word  of  communication 
would  make  a'  the  difference,  why  it's  no 
permitted,  if  it  were  but  to  keep  a  heart 
from  breaking  here  and  there." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  our  own  fault,"  said  Colin  ; 
"  perhaps  flesh  and  blood  shrinks  more  than 
we  are  aware  of  from  such  a  possibility ; 
and  perhaps" —  here  the  young  man  paused 
a  little,  "  indeed,  it  is  not  perhaps.  Does 
not  God  himself  choose  to  be  our  comforter?  " 
said  the  youthful  predestined  priest ;   upon 


159 

which  the  older  and  sadder  man  once  more 
composed  himself  with  a  groan. 

"  Ay,"  said  Lauderlade,  "  I  can  say  noth- 
ing against  that  ai-gument.  I'm  no  denying 
it's  the  last  and  the  grpatest.  I  speak  the 
voice  of  a  man's  yearning,  but  I've  no  in- 
tention of  contravening  the  truth.  He's 
gone  like  many  a  one  before  him.  You  and 
me  must  bide  our  time.  I'll  say  no  more  of 
Arthur.  The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to 
read  a  chapter.  If  we  canna  hear  of  him  di- 
rect, which  is  no  to  be  hoped  for,*we  can 
take  as  good  a  grip  as  possible  of  the  Friend 
that  stands  between  us.  It's  little  use  try- 
ing to  forget,  or  trying  no  to  think  and  in- 
quire and  question.  There  is  but  one  thing 
in  the  world,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  that  a  man 
can  feel  a  kind  of  sure  of.  Callant,  read  a 
chapter,"  said  the  philosopher,  with  a  long 
sigh.  He  threw  himself  back,  as  he  spoke,  in 
the  nearest  chair,  and  Colin  took  his  Bible 
dutifully  to  obey.  The  contrast  between 
this  request,  expressed  as  any  Scotch  peasant 
would  have  expressed  it,  and  the  speculations 
which  preceded  it  did  not  startle  Colin,  and 
he  had  opened  the  book  by  instinct  in  the  lat- 
ter part  of  St.  John's  Gospel,  when  he  was 
disturbed  by  the  entrance  of  Alice,  who  came 
in  softly  from  her  room  without  any  warning. 
Her  long  attendance  on  her  brother  had 
withdrawn  the  color  from  her  cheeks  and 
the  fulness  from  her  figure  so  gradually,  that 
it  was  only  now  in  her  mourning  dress  that 
her  companions  saw  how  pale  and  thin  she 
had  grown.  Alice  was  not  speculative,  nor 
fanciful,  nor  addicted  to  undue  exercise  of  the 
faculties  of  her  own  mind  in  any  way.  She 
was  a  dutiful  woman,  young  and  simple,  and 
accepting  God's  will  without  inquiry  or  re- 
monstrance. Though  she  had  struggled  long 
against  the  thought  of  Arthur's  death,  now 
that  he  was  dead  she  recognized  and  sub- 
mitted to  the  event  which  it  was  no  longer  pos- 
sible to  avert  or  change,  with  a  tender  and 
sweet  resignation  of  which  some  women  are 
capable.  ^  A  more  forlorn  and  desolate  crea- 
ture than  Alice  Meredith  did  not  exist  on  the 
earth,  to  all  ordinary  appearance,  at  this  mo- 
ment ;  but  as  she  was  not  at  all  thinking  of 
herself,  that  aspect  of  the  case  did  not  occujr 
to  her.  She  came  out  of  her  room  very  softly, 
with  a  faint  smile  on  her  face,  holding  some 
prayer-books  in  her  hands.  Up  to  this  sad 
day  it  had  been  their  custom  to  read  prayers 


160 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


together  on  the  Sundays,  being  too  far  off 
Rome  to  make  it  practicable  even  for  the 
stronger  members  of  the  party  to  go  to 
church.  xMice  came  up  to  Colin  with  her 
books  in  her  hands^  she  said  to  him  in  a 
•wistful  whisper,  "  You  will  take  his  place," 
and  pointed  out  to  him  silently  the  marks  she 
had  placed  at  the  lessons  and  psalms.  Then 
she  knelt  down  between  the  two  awed  and 
astonished  men,  to  say  the  familiar  prayers 
which  only  a  week  ago  Arthur  himself  had 
read  wifti  his  dying  voice.  Though  at  times 
articulation  was  almost  impossible  to  Colin, 
and  Lauderdale  breathed  out  of  his  deep 
chest  an  amen  which  sounded  like  a  groan, 
Alice  did  not  falter  in  her  profound  and  still 
devotions.  She  went  over  the  well-known 
prayers  Avord  by  word,  with  eye  and  voice 
steadfast  and  rapt  in  the  duty  which  was  at 
the  same  time  a  consolation.  There  are 
women  of  such  sweet  loyalty  and  submission 
of  spirit  ;  but  neither  Lauderdale  nor  Colin 
had  met  with  them  before.  Perhaps  a  cer- 
tain passiveness  of  intellect  had  to  do  with 
'  it,  as  well  as  Alice's  steady  English  training 
and  custom  of  self-suppression  ;  but  it  made 
a  wonderful  impression  upon  the  two  who 
were  now  the  sole  companions  and  guardians 
of  the  friendless  young  woman,  and  gave  her 
indeed  for  the  moment  an  absolute  empire 
over  tTiem,  of  which  Alice  was  altogether  un- 
conscious, and  of  which,  even  had  she  known 
it,  she  could  have  made  no  further  use. 
When  the  Morning  Prayer  was  almost  con- 
cluded, it  was  she  who  indicated  to  Colin 
another  mark  in  the  prayer-book,  at  the 
prayer  for  Christ's  church  militant  on  earth, 
and  they  could  even  hear  the  whisper  of  her 
voice  broken  by  an  irrestrainable  sob  at  the 
thanksgiving  for  all  "  thy  servant  departed 
this  life  in  thy  faith  and  fear,"  which  Colin 
read  with  agitation  and  faltering.  When 
they  all  rose  from  their  knees,  she  turned 
frora  one  to  the  other  with  her  countenance 
for  the  first  time  disturbed.  "  You  were 
very,  very  good  to  him,"  she  said,  softly. 
"  Godwin  bless  you  for  it,"  and  so  sank  into 
sobbing  and  tears,  which  were  not  to  be  sub- 
dued any  longer,  yet  were  not  passionate  nor 
out  of  accordance  with  her  docile  looks.  Af- 
ter that,  Alice  recovered  her  calm,  and  be- 
gan to  occupy  herself  with  them  as  if  she 
had  been  their  mother.  "  Have  you  been 
out?"  she  said.  "You  must  not  stay  in 
and  make  yourself  ill."    This  was  addressed 


specially  to  Colin.  "  Please  go  out  and  take 
a  walk  ;  it  will  do  you  a  great  deal  of  good. 
If  it  had  not  been  a  great  feeta,  it  would  not 
have  been  so  bad ;  but  if  you  go  up  to  the 
Villa  Conti,  you  will  find  nobody  there.  Go 
up  behind  the  terrace,  into  the  alleys  where 
it  is  shady.  There  is  one  on  the  way  to  the 
Aldobrandini ;  you  know  it,  Mr.  Campbell. 
Oh,  go,  please;  it  is  such  a  beautiful  day,  it 
will  do  you  good." 

'♦  And  you  ?  "  said  Colin,  who  felt  in  his 
heart  an  inclination  to  kneel  to  her  as  if  she 
had  been  a  queen. 

"  I  will  etay  at  home  to-day,"  said  Alice. 
"  I  could  not  go  out  to-day ;  but  I  shall  do 
very  well.  Sora  Antonia  will  come  in  from 
mass  presently.  Oh,  go  out,  please,  and 
take  a  walk.  Mr.  Lauderdale,  he  will  go  if 
you  tell  him  to  go  :  you  are  both  looking  so 
pale." 

"Come,  Colin,"  said  Lauderdale  "she 
shall  have  her  pleasure  done  this  day,  at 
least,  whatsoever  she  commands.  If  there 
was  anything  within  my  power  or  his" — said 
the  philosopher,  with  a  strange  discord  that 
sounded  like  tears  in  his  voice  ;  but  Alice 
stopped  him  short. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  softly,  "  it  is  very 
good  of  you  to  do  it  because  I  ask  you.  Mr. 
Campbell,  you  did  not  read  the  right  lesson," 
she  added,  turning  her  worn  face  to  Colin 
with  a  slight  reproach. 

"  I  read  what  I  thought  was  better  for  us 
all,  mourning  as  we  are,"  said  Colin,  star- 
tled;  upon  which  the.  sad  little  representa- 
tive of  law  and  order  did  her  best  to  smile. 

"  1  have  always  heard  it  said  how  wonder- 
ful it  was  how  the  lesson  for  the  day  always 
suited  everybody's  case,"  said  Alice.  "  Ar- 
thur never  would  make  any  change  for  cir- 
cumstances. He — he  said  it  was  as  if  God 
could  ever  be  wanting,"  the  faithful  sister 
said,  through  her  sobs  ;  and  then,  again,  put 
force  upon  herself:  "  I  shall  be  here  when 
you  come  back,"  she  said,  with  her  faint 
smile  ;  and  so,  like  a  little  princess,  sent  them 
away.  The  two  men  went  their  way  up  the 
slope  and  through  the  little  town,  in  their 
black  coats,  casting  two  tall,  sombre  shadows 
into  the  sunshine  and  gayety  of  the  bright 
piazza.  There  had  been  a  procession  that 
morning,  and  the  rough  pavement  waa 
strewed  with  sprigs  of  myrtle  and'  box,  and 
the  air  still  retained  a  flavor  of  the  candles, 
not  quite  obliterated  by  the  whiff  of  incense 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


which  came  from  the  open  doors  of  the 
cathedral,  where  even  the  heavy  leathern 
curtain,  generally  suspended  across  the  en- 
trance, had  been  removed  by  reason  of  the 
crowd.  People  were  kneeling  even  on  the 
steps;  peasants  in  their  laced  buskins,  and 
Frascati  women,  made  into  countesses  or 
duchesses,  at  the  least,  by  the  long  white 
veil  which  streamed  to  their  feet.  The  win 
dows  were  all  hung  with  brilliant  draperies 
in  honor  of  the  morning's  procession  and  the 
afternoon's  Tombola.  It  was  one  of  the  very 
chief  of  Italian  holydays,  a  festal  Sunday  in 
May,  the  month  of  Mary.  No  wonder  the 
two  sad  Protestant  Scotchmen,  with  mourn, 
ing  in  their  dress  and  in  their  hearts,  felt 
themselves  grow  sick  and  faint  as  they  went 
dutifully  to  the  gardens  of  the  Villa  Conti, 
as  they  had  been  commanded.  They  did  not 
60  much  as  exchange  a  word  with  each  other 
till  they  had  passed  through  all  that  sun- 
shine and  reached  the  identical  alley,  a  close 
arcade,  overarched  and  shut  in  by  the  dense 
foliage  of  ilex-trees,  to  which  their  little  sov- 
ereign had  directed  them.  There  was  not 
a  soul  there,  as  she  had  prophesied.  A  tun- 
nel scooped  out  of  the  damp,  dewy  soil  would 
scarcely  have  been  more  absolutely  shut  in 
from  the  sunshine,  scarcely  could  have  been 
stiller  or  cooler,  or  more  withdrawn  from  the 
blazing  noonday,  with  Its  noises  and  rejoic- 
ings, than  this  narrow,  sombre  aventie.  They 
strayed  down  its  entire  length,  from  one  blue 
arch  of  daylight  to  the  other,  before  they 
spoke ;  and  then  it  was  Lauderdale  who 
broke  the  silence,  as  if  his  thoughts,  gener- 
ally BO  busy  and  so  vagrant,  had  never  got 
beyond  Alice  Meredith's  last  words. 

"  Another  time,  Colin,"  said  the  philoso- 
pher, "  you'll  no  make  ony  changes  in  the 
lesson  for  the  day.  Whiles  it's  awfu'  hard 
to  put  up  with  the  conditions  o'  a  leemited 
intellect  ;  but  whiles  they're  half  divine. 
I'm  no  pretending  to  be  reasonable.  She 
kens  no  more  about  reason  than — the  angels, 
maybe — no  that  I  have  ony  personal  acquaint- 
ance with  their  modes  o'  argument.  I  ad- 
mit it's  a  new  development  to  me ;  but  a 
woman  like  yon,  callant,  would  keep  a  man 
awfu'  steady  in  the  course  of  his  life." 

"Yes,"  said  Colin;  and  then  with  a 
strange  premonition,  for  which  he  himself 
could  not  account,  he  added,  "  She  would 
keep  a  man  steady,  as  you  say  ;  but  he  would 
find  little  response  in  her, — not  that  I  regard 

11 


161 

her  less  respectfully,  less  reverentially  than 
you  do,  Lauderdale,"  he  went  on,  hurriedly, 
"  but"— 

"  It  wasna  your  opinion  I  was  asking  for," 
said  the  philosopher,  somewhat  morosely. 
"  She's  like  none  of  thfe  women  you  and  me 
ken.  I'm  doubtful  in  my  own  mind  wheth- 
er that  dutiful  and  obedient  spirit  has  ever 
been  our  ideal  in  our  country.  Intellect's  a 
grand  gift,  callant,  baith  to  man  and  woman  ; 
but  you'll  no  fly  in  my  face  and  assert  that 
it's  more  than, second-best." 

"  I  am  not  up  to  argument  to-day,"  said 
Colin  ;  and  they  walked  back  again  the 
whole  length  of  the  avenue  in  silence.  Per- 
haps a  certain  irritability,  born  of  their  mu- 
tual grief,  was  at  the  bottom  of  this  momen- 
tary difference ;  but  somehow,  in  the  stillness, 
in  the  subdued  leafy  ehade,  which  at  first 
sight  had  been  so  congenial  to  his  feelings, 
an  indescribable  shadow  stole  over  Colin 's 
mind, — a  kind  of  indistinct  fear  and  reluc- 
tance, which  took  no  definite  shape,  but  only 
crept  over  him  like  a  mist  over  the  face  of 
the  sun.  His  heart  was  profoundly  touched 
at  once  by  the  grief,  and  by  the  self-com- 
mand of  Alice,  and  by  her  utter  helplessness 
and  dependence  upon  himself  and  his  friend. 
Never  before  had  he  been  so  atkacted 
towards  her,  nor  felt  so  much  that  dangerous 
softening  sentiment  of  pity  and  admiration, 
which  leads  to  love.  And  yet,  the  two 
walked  back  silently  under  the  dark  ilex- 
trees,  and  across  the  piazza,  which  was  now 
thronged  with  a  gay  and  many-colored  crowd. 
The  brighter  the  scene  grew  around  them, 
the  more  they  shut  themselves  up  in  their 
own  silence  and  sorrow,  as  was  natural ;  and 
Colin  at  length  began  to  recognize  a  new 
element,  which  filled  him  with  vague  uneasi- 
ness,— an  element  not  in  the  least  new  to  the 
perplexed  cogitations  of  his  guardian  and 
anxious  friend 

CHAPTER  XXXTI. 

When  they  entered  the  salone  on  their 
return,  the  first  object  which  met  their  eyes 
was  the  stately  figure  of  Sora  Antonia  in  full 
holiday  costume,  lately  returned  from  mass. 
She  had  still  her  fan  and  her  rosary  depend- 
ing from  her  wrist, — adjuncts  almost  equally 
necessary  to  devotion,  as  that  is  understood 
at  Frascati, — and  was  still  arrayed  in  the 
full  splendors  of  the  veil  which,  fastened 
over  her  hair,  fell  almost  to  her  feet  behind, 


162 

and  gave  grace  and  dignity  to  her  tall  and 
stately  person.  Sora  Antonia  was  a  depend- 
ant of  the  family  Savvclli  ;  scarcely  a  ser- 
vant, though  she  had  once  belonged  to  the 
prince's  household.  She  had  charge  of  the 
palace  at  Frascati,  which  was  never  occupied 
except  by  a  solitary  ecclesiastic,  the  prince's 
brother,  for  whom  the  first  floor  was  kept 
sacred.  Even  this  sanctity,  however,  was 
sometimes  invaded  when  a  good  chance  ofTered 
of  letting  the  piano  nohile  to  some  rich  for- 
eigner, which  was  the  fate  of  all  the  other 
apartments  in  the  house.  Sora  Antonia  had 
charge  of  all  the  interests  of  the  Savvelli  in 
their  deserted  mansion.  When  the  tenants 
did  any  damage,  she  made  careful  note  of  it, 
and  did  not  in  any  respect  neglect  the  interests 
of  her  master  ;  nor  was  she  inconsiderate  of 
her  own,  but  regarded  it  as  a  natural  duty, 
when  it  proved  expedient,  to  make  a  little 
money  out  of  the  Forestieri.  "  They  give 
one  trouble  enough,  the  blessed  Madonna 
knows,"  the  good  w'oman  said,  piously.  But, 
notwithstanding  these  prudent  cares,  Sora 
Antonia  was  not  only  a  very  sensible  woman 
according  to  her  lights,  but  had  a  heart,  and 
understood  her  duty  to  her  neighbors.  She 
made  her  salutations  to  the  two  friends  when 
they  entered  with  equal  suavity,  but  addressed 
her  explanations  to  Colin,  who  was  not  only 
her  favorite  in  right  of  his  youth  and  good 
looks,  but  who  could  understand  her  best. 
Colin,  whose  Italian  was  limited,  called  the 
excellent  housekeeper  Madama,  a  courtesy 
which  naturally  gained  her  heart ;  and  she 
on  her  part  appropriated  to  his  use  the  title 
of  Signorino,  which  was  not  quite  so  flatter- 
ing ;  for  Colin  was  still  young  enough  to 
object  to  being  called  young.  To-day,  how- 
ever, her  address  was  more  dignified  ;  for  the 
crisis  was  an  important  one.  Before  she 
began  to  speak  the  visitor  sat  down,  which 
in  itself  was  an  act  requiring  explanation, 
especially  as  the  table  had  been  already  ar- 
ranged for  dinner,  and  this  was  the  last  day 
in  the  world  on  which  the  strangers  were 
likely  to  desire  society.  Sora  Antonia  took 
matters  with  a  high  hand,  and  in  case  of  op- 
position secured  for  herself  at  least  the  first 
word. 

"  Pardon,  caro  signore  mio,"  she  said, 
"you  are  surprised  to  find  me  here.  Very 
well ;  I  am  sorry  to  incommode  the  gentle- 
men, but  I  have  to  do  my  duty.  The  siguo- 
rina  is  very  young,  and  she  baa  no  one  to 


A    SON    OF    THE     SOIL. 


take  care  of  her.  The  signori  are  very  good, 
very  excellent,  and  kind.  Ah,  yes,  I  know 
it, — never  was  there  such  devotion  to  the 
poor  sick  friend  ; — nevertheless,  the  signori 
are  but  men,  senza  complimenli,  and  I  am  a 
woman  who  has  been  married  and  had  chil- 
dren of  my  own,  and  know  my  duty.  Until 
some  proper  person  comes  to  take  charge  of 
the  poor  dear  young  lady,  the  signori  will 
pardon  me,  but  I  must  remain  here." 

"Does  the  signorina  wish  it?"  asked 
Colin,  with  wondering  looks ;  for  the  idea  of 
another  protector  for  Alice  confounded  him, 
he  scarcely  knew  why. 

"  The  signorina  is  not  much  more  than  a 
child,"  said  Sora  Antonia,  loftily.  "  Besides, 
she  has  not  been  brought  up  like  an  Italian 
young  lady,  to  know  what  is  proper.  Pov- 
erina !  she  does  not  understand  anything 
about  it ;  but  the  signori  will  excuse  me, — 
I  know  my  duty,  and  that  is  enough." 

"Oh,  yes,  certainly,"  said  Colin,  "but 
then,  in  England,  as  you  say,  we  have  difier- 
ent  ideas,  and  if  the  signorina  does  not 
wish ' ' — 

Here,  however,  he  was  interrupted  by 
Lauderdale,  who,  having  tardily  apprehend- 
ed the  purport  of  Sora  Antonia's  communica- 
tion, took  it  upon  himself  to  make  instant 
response  in  the  best  Italian  he  could  muster. 
'■'■  Avcte -jnolto  buono]  molto  huono!'''  cried 
Lauderdale,  intending  to  say  that  she  was 
very  kind,  and  that  he  highly  approved, 
though  a  chronic  confusion  in  his  mind,  as  to 
which  was  which,  of  the  auxiliary  verbs, 
made  his  meaning  cloudy.  "  Grazie,  Ab- 
biamo  contcnio!  Grazie,"  he  added,  with  a 
little  excitement  and  enthusiasm.  Though 
he  had  used  the  wrong  verb,  Sora  Antonia 
graciously  comprehended  his  meaning.  She 
was  used  to  such  little  eccentricities  of  dic- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  Forestieri.  She 
bowed  her  stately  head  to  him  with  a  look  of 
approbation,  and  it  would  be  vain  to  deny 
that  the  sense  of  having  thus  expressed  him- 
self clearly  and  eloquently  in  a  foreign  lan- 
guage conveyed  a  certain  satisfaction  to  the 
mind  of  the  philosopher. 

"Bravo!  The  signore  will  speak  very 
well  if  he  perseveres,"  said  Sora  Antonia, 
graciously  ;  "  not  to  say  that  His  Excellency 
is  a  man  of  experience,  and  perceives  the 
justice  of  what  I  propose.  No  doubt,  it  will 
occupy  a  great  deal  of  my  time,  but  the 
other  Forestieri  have  not  arrived  yet,  and 


how  can  one  expect  the  Madonna  Santissima 
and  the  blessed  St.  Antunio  to  take  so  much 
trouble  in  one's  concerns  if  one  will  not  exert 
one's  self  a  little  for  one's  fellow-creatures  ? 
As  the  signorina  has  not  left  her  room  yet,  I 
will  take  away  the  inconvenience*  for  a  few 
minutes,  Scusa  Signori,"  said  Sora  Antonia, 
and  she  went  away  with  stately  beai-ing  and 
firm  steps,  which  resounded  through  the 
house,  to  take  off  her  veil  and  put  aside  her 
rosary.  She  had  seated  herself  again  in  her 
indoor  aspect,  with  the  "  Garden  of  the 
Soul  "  in  her  hand,  before  Alice  came  into 
the  room  ;  and,  without  doubt,  she  made  a 
striking  addition  to  the  party.  She  was  a 
Frascati  woman  born,  and  her  costume,  con- 
sequently, was  perfect, — a  costume  less  im- 
posing than  the  scarlet  Albano  jacket,  but 
not  less  calculated  to  do  justice  to  the  ample 
bust  and  stately  head  of  the  Roman  peasant. 
The  dress  itself,  the  actual  gown,  in  this  as 
in  other  Italian  costumes,  was  an  indifferent 
matter.  The  important  particulars  were  the 
long  and  delicate  apron  of  embroidered  mus- 
lin, the  busto  made  of  rich  brocade  and  shaped 
to  the  exact  Frascati  model,  and  the  large, 
soft,  snowy  kerchief  with  embroidered  cor- 
ners, which  covered  her  full  shoulders, — not 
to  speak  of  the  long  heavy  gold  ear-rings  and 
coral  necklace  which  completed  and  enriched 
the  dreee.  She  sat  apart  and  contemplated, 
if  not  the  "  Garden  of  the  Soul,"  at  least 
the  little  pictures  in  borders  of  lace-paper 
which  were  placed  thickly  between  the  leaves, 
while  the  melancholy  meal  was  eaten  at  the 
table ;  for  Sora  Antonia  had  educazione,  and 
had  not  come  to  intrude  upon  the  privacy  of 
her  lodgers.  Alice,  for  her  part,  made  -no 
remark  upon  the  presence  of  this  new  guar- 
dian ;  she  accepted  it  as  she  accepted  every- 
thing else,  as  a  matter  of  course,  without 
even  showing  any  painful  sense  of  the  cir- 
cumstances which  in  Sora  Antonia's  opinion 
made  this  last  precaution  necessary.  Her 
two  companions,  the  only  friends  she  seemed 
to  have  in  the  world,  bore  vicariously  on  her 
account  the  pain  of  this  visible  reminder  that 
she  was  here  in  a  false  position  and  had  no 
legitimate  protector  ;  but  Alice  had  not  yet 
awaked  to  any  such  sense  on  her  own  behalf. 
She  took  her  place  at  the  table  and  tried  to 
swallow  a  morsel,  and  interested  herself  in 
the  appetite  of  the  others  as  if  she  had  been 

*"Levo    rincomodo,"  a  homely  expression  of 
Italian  politeness  on  leaving  a  room. 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL.  163 

their   mother.     "Try  to  eat   something;  it 
will  make  you  ill  if  you  do  not,"  poor  Alice 


said,  in  the  abstraction  and  dead  calm  of  her 
grief.  Her  own  feeling  was  that  she  had 
been  lifted  far  away  from  them  into  an  at- 
mosphere of  age  and  distance  and  a  kind  of 
sad  superiority,  and  to  minister  to  some  one 
was  the  grand  condition  under  which  Alice 
Meredith  lived.  As  to  the  personal  suffering, 
which  was  confined  to  herself,  that  did  not  so 
much  matter  ;  she  had  not  been  used  to  much 
sympathy,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  look 
for  it.  Consequently,  the  only  natural  busi- 
ness which  remained  to  her  was  to  take  a 
motherly  charge  of  her  two  companions,  and 
urge  them  to  eat. 

"  You  are  not  to  mind  me,"  she  said,  with 
an  attempt  at  a  smile,  after  dinner.  "  This 
is  Sunday'  to  be  sure  ;  but,  after  to-day,  you 
are  just  to  go  on  as  you  used  to  dOj  and  never 
mind.  Thank  you,  I  should  like  it  better. 
I  shall  always  be  here,  you  know,  when  you 
come  back  from  Rome,  or  wherever  you  wish 
to  go.     But  you  must  not  mind  for  me." 

Lauderdale  and  Colin  exchanged  looks  al- 
most without  being  aware  of  it.  "But  you 
would  like — somebody  to  be  sent  for — or 
something  done  ?  ' '  said  Lauderdale.  He  was 
a  great  deal  more  confused  in  having  to  sug- 
gest this  than  Alice  was,  who  kept  looking  at 
him,  her  eyes  dilated  with  weariness  and 
tears,  yet  soft  and  clear  as  the  eyes  of  a  child. 
He  could  not  say  to  her,  in  so  many  words, 
"  It  is  impossible  for  you  to  remain  with  us." 
All  he  could  do  was  to  falter  and  hesitate, 
and  grow  confused,  under  the  limpid,  sorrow- 
ful look  which  she  bent  upon  him  from  the 
distant  heaven  of  her  resignation  and  inno- 
cence. "  You  would  like  your  friends— 
— somebody  to  be  written  to,"  said  Lauder- 
dale ;  and  then,  afraid  to  have  given  her  pain 
by  the  suggestion,  went  on  hurriedly  :  "  I'm 
old  enough  to  be  your  father,  and  no  a  thought 
in  my  mind  but  to  do  you  servive,"  he  said. 
"  Tell  me  what  you  would  like  best.  Colin, 
thank  God  !  is  strong,  and  has  little  need  of 
me.  I'll  take  you  home,  or  do  whatever 
you  please ;  for  I'm  old  enough  to  be  your 
father,  my  poor  bairn  !  "  said  the  tender- 
hearted philosopher,  and  drew  near  to  her, 
and  put  out  his  hand  with  an  impulse  of  piti- 
ful and  protecting  kindness  which  touched 
the  heart  of  Alice,  and  yet  filled  her  with 
momentary  surprise.  She,  on  her  own  side, 
was  roused  a  little,  not  to  think  of  herself. 


164 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


but  to  remember  what  appeared  k)  her  a  duty 
unfulfilled. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Lauderdale!  Arthur  said  I 
might  tell  you,"  said  Alice.  "  Papa  !  you 
heard  what  he  said  about  papa  ?  I  ought  to 
write  and  tell  him  what  has  happened.  Per- 
haps I  ought  to  tell  you  from  the  beginning," 
she  continued  after  composing  herself  a  little. 
"  We  left  home  without  his  consent — indeed, 
he  did  not  know.  For  dear  Arthur,"  said  the 
poor  girl,  turning  her  appealing  eyes  from 
one  to  the  other,  "  could  not  approve  of  his 
ways.  He  did  something  that  Arthur  thought 
was  wrong.  I  cannot  tell  you  about  it,"  said 
Alice  through  her  tears  ;  "  it  did  not  make 
so  much  difference  to  me.  I  think  I  ought  to 
write  and  tell  him,  and  that  Arthur  forgave 
him  at  the  last.  Oh,  tell  me,  please,  what  do 
you  think  I  should  do  ?  " 

"  If  you  would  like  to  go  home,  I'll  take 
you  home,"  said  Lauderdale.  "  He  did  not 
mean  ony  harm,  poor  callant,  but  he's  left 
an  awfu'  burden  on  you." 

"  Go  home!  "  said  Alice,  with  a  slight 
shudder.  "  Do  you  think  I  ought — do  you 
think  I  must?  I  do  not  care  for  myself,  but 
Mrs.  Meredith,  you  know  " — she  added,  with 
a  momentary  blush  ;  and  then  the  friends  be 
gan  to  perceive  another  unforeseen  lion  in 
the  way. 

*'  Out  of  my  own  head,"  said  Lauderdale, 
who  took  the  whole  charge  of  this  business  on 
himself,  and  would  not  permit  Colin  to  inter- 
fere, "  I  wrote  your  father  a  kind  of  a  letter. 
If  you  are  able  to  hear  the — the  event — which 
has  left  us  a'  mourning — named  in  common 
words,  I'll  read  you  what  I  have  written. 
Poor  bairn,  you're  awfu'  young  and  awfu' 
tender  to  have  such  affairs  in  hand !  Are 
you  sure  you  are  able  to  bear  it,  and  can  lis- 
ten to  what  I  have  said  ?  ' ' 

"Ah,  I  have  borne  it,"  said  poor  Alice. 
"  I  cannot  deceive  myself,  nor  think  Arthur 
is  still  here.  What  does  it  matter  then 
about  saying  it  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  can  bear  any- 
thing ;  it  is  only  me  to  bear  now  and  it 
doesn't  matter.  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to 
write.  I  should  like  to  know  what  you 
have  said." 

Colin  who  could  do  nothing  else  for  her,  put 
forward  the  arm-chair  with  the  cushions 
towards  the  table,  and  Sora  Antonia  put 
down  the  "  Garden  of  the  Soul  "  and  drew  a 
little  nearer  with  her  heavy,  firm  foot,  which 
Bhook  the   house.     She  comprehended  that 


something  was  going  on  which  would  tax  the 
signorina's  strength,  and  brought  her  solid, 
steady  succor  to  be  in  readiness.  The  pale 
little  girl  turned  and  smiled  upon  them  both 
as  she  took  the  chair  Colin  had  brought  her. 
She  was  herself  quite  steady  in  her  weakness 
and  grief  and  loneliness.  Sora  Antonia  was 
not  wanted  there  ;  and  Colin  drew  her  aside 
to  the  window,  where  she  told  him  all  about 
the  fireworks  that  were  to  be  in  the  even- 
ing, and  her  hopes  that  after  a  while  the 
signorina  would  be  able  to  "  distract  herself  " 
a  little  and  recover  her  spirits  ;  to  which 
Colin  assented  dutifully,  watching  from  where 
he  stood  the  pale  looks  of  the  friendless  young 
woman, — friendless  beyond  disguise  or  possible 
self-deception,  with  a  step-mother  whom  she 
blushed  to  mention  reigning  in  her  father's 
house.  Colin's  thoughts  were  many  and  tu- 
multuous as  he  stood  behind  in  the  window, 
watching  Alice  and  listening  to  Sora  Anto- 
nia's  descriptions  of  the  fireworks.  Was  it 
possible  that  perhaps  his  duty  to  his  neighbor 
required  from  him  the  most  costly  of  all  offer- 
ings, the  rashest  of  all  possible  actions  ?  He 
stood  behind ,  growing  more  and  more  excited  in 
the  utter  quiet.  The  thought  that  had  dawned 
upon  him  under  the  ilex  trees  came  nearer  and 
grew  more  familiar,  and  as  he  contemplated  it, 
he  seemed  to  recognize  all  that  visible  machin- 
ery of  Providence  bringing  about  the  great 
event  which  youth  decides  upon  so  easily. 
While  this  vision  grew  before  his  mind,  Alice 
was  wiping  off  the  tears  which  obliterated  Lau- 
derdale's letter  even  to  her  patient  eyes ;  for, 
docile  and  dutiful  as  she  was,  it  was  yet  ter- 
rible to  read  in  calm,  distinct  words,  which 
put  the  matter  beyond  all  doubt,  the  an- 
nouncement of  "  what  had  happened. "  This 
is  what  Lauderdale  said  : — 

"  Sir, —  It  is  a  great  grief  to  me  to  inform 
you  of  an  event  for  which  I  have  no  way  of 
knowing  whether  you  are  prepared  or  not. 
Your  son,  Arthur  Meredith,  has  been  living 
here  for  the  last  three  months  in  declining 
health ,  and  on  Thursday  last  died  in  great  com- 
fort and  constancy  of  mind.  It  is  not  for  me, 
a  stranger  to  offer  vain  words  of  consolation, 
but  his  end  was  such  as  any  man  might  be  well 
content  to  have,  and  he  entered  upon  his  new 
life  joyfully,  without  any  shadow  on  his 
mind.  As  far  as  love  and  friendship  could 
soothe  the  sufferings  that  were  inevitable, 
he  had  both  ;  for  his  sister  never  left  his  bed- 
side, and  myself  and  my  friend,  Colin  Camp- 
bell, were  with  him  constantly,  to  his  satis- 
faction.    His  sister  remains  under  our  care. 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


[  who  write  am  no  longer  a  young  man,  and 
know  what  is  due  to  a  young  creature  of  her 
tender  years  ;  so  that  you  may  satisfy  yourself 
she  is  safe  until  such  time  as  you  can  commu- 
nicate with  me,  which  I  will  look  for  as  soon 
as  a  reply  is  practicable,  and  in  the  mean  time 
remain, 

"  Your  son's  faithful  friend  and  mourner, 
"  W.  Lauderdale." 


Alice  lingered  over  this  letter,  reading  it, 
and  crying,  and  whispering  to  Lauderdale  a 
long  time,  as  Colin  thought.  She  found  it 
easier,  somehow,  to  tell  her  story  fully  to  the 
elder  man.  She  told  him  that  Mrs.  Meredith 
had  "  come  home  suddenly,"  which  was  her 
gentle  version  of  a  sad  domestic  history, — 
that  nobody  had  known  of  her  father's  second 
marriage  until  the  step-mother  arrived,  with- 
out any  warning,  with  a  train  of  children. 
Alice's  mild  words  did  not  give  Lauderdale 
any  very  lively  picture  of  the  dismay  of  the 
household  at  this  unlooked-for  apparition  ; 
but  he  understood  enough  to  condemn  Arthur 
less  severely  than  he  had  been  disposed  to  do 
This  sudden  catastrophe  had  happened  just 
after  the  other  misery  of  the  bank  failure 
which  had  ruined  so  many ;  and  poor  Mere- 
dith had  no  alternative  between  leaving  his 
sister  to  the  tender  mercies  of  an  underbred 
and  possibly  disreputable  step-mother,  or 
■bringing  her  with  him  when  he  retired  to  die ; 
and  Alice,  though  she  still  cried  for  "  poor 
papa,"  recoiled  a  little  from  the  conclusion  ot 
Lauderdale's  letter.  "  I  have  enough  to  live 
upon,"  she  said,  softly,  with  an  appealing 
glance  at  her  companion.  "If  you  were  to 
say  that  I  was  quite  safe,  would  not  that  be 
enough?  "  and  it  was  very  hard  for  Lauder- 
dale to  convince  her  that  her  father's  judgment 
must  be  appealed  to  in  such  a  matter.  When 
she  saw  he  was  not  to  be  moved  on  this  point, 
she  sighed  and  submitted ;  but  it  was  clearly 
apparent  that  as  yet,  occupied  as  she  was  by 
her  grief,  the  idea  that  her  situation  here 
was  embarrassing  to  her  companions  or  un- 
suitable for  herself  had  not  occurred  to 
Alice.  When  she  retired,  under  the  escort 
of  Sora  Antonia,  the  two  friends  had  a  con- 
sultation over  this  perplexing  matter ;  and 
Lauderdale's  sketch— filled  in,  perhaps,  a  lit- 
tle from  his  imagination — of  the  home  she 
had  left,  plunged  Colin  into  deeper  and  deep- 
er thought,  "  No  doubt  he'll  send  some  an- 
swer," the  philosopher  said.  "  He  may  not 
be  worthy  to  have  the  charge  of  her,  but  he's 


165 

aye  her  father.  It's  hard  to  ken  whether  it's 
better  or  worse  that  she  should  be  unconscious 
like  this  of  onything  embarrassing  in  her 
position,  which  is  a'  the  more  wonderful,  as 
she's  a  real  honest  woman,  and  no  way  intel- 
lectual nor  exalted.  You  and  me,  Colin," 
said  Lauderdale,  looking  up  in  his  young 
companion's  face,  "  must  take  good  care 
that  she  does  not  find  it  out  from  us." 

"Of  course,"  said  Colin,  with  involun- 
tary testiness ;  "  but  I  do  not  see  what  her 
father  has  to  do  with  it,"  continued  the 
young  man.  "  She  cannot  possibly  return 
to  such  a  home." 

"  Her  father  is  the  best  judge  of  that," 
said  Lauderdale;  "she  canna  remain  with 
you  and  me." 

And  there  the  conversation  dropped,  but 
not  the  subject.  Colin  was  not  in  love  with 
Alice  ;  he  had,  indeed,  vague  but  bright  in 
the  clouds  before  him,  an  altogether  different 
ideal  woman  ;  and  his  heart  was  in  the 
career  which  he  again  saw  opening  before 
him, — the  life  in  which  he  meant  to  serve  God 
and  his  country,  and  which  at  the  present 
moment  would  admit  of  no  rashly  formed 
ties.  Was  it  in  consequence  of  these  hin- 
drances that  this  new  thing  loomed  so  large, 
before  Colin's  inexperienced  eyes?  If  he 
had  longed  for  it  with  youthful  passion,  he 
would  have  put  force  on  himself  and  re- 
strained his  longing ;  but  the  temptation 
took  another  shape.  It  was  as  if  a  maiden 
knight  at  the  outset  of  his  career  had  been 
tempted  to  pass  by  a  helpless  creature  and 
leave  her  wrongs  unredressed.  The  young 
Bayard  could  do  anything  but  this. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

In  the  mean  time  at  least  a  fortnight  must 
pass  before  they  could  expect  an  answer  to 
Lauderdale's  letter.  During  that  time  they 
returned  to  all  their  old  habits,  with  the 
strange  and  melancholy  difference  that  Ar- 
thur, once  the  centre  of  all,  was  no  longer 
there.  Every  day  of  this  time  increased  the 
development  of  Colin's  new  thoughts,  until 
the  unknown  father  of  Alice  had  grown,  in 
his  eyes,  into  a  cruel  and  profligate  tyrant, 
ready  to  drag  his  daughter  home  and  plunge 
her  into  depraved  society,  without  any  re- 
gard for  either  her  happiness  or  her  honor. 
Colin  had,  indeed,  in  his  own  mind,  in  strict- 
est privacy  and  seclusion  of  thought,  indited 
an  imaginary  letter,  eloquent  with  youthful 


166  A    SON    OF 

indignation  to  inform  this  unworthy  parent 
that  his  deserted  daughter  had  found  a  better 
protector  ;  but  he  was  very  silent  about  these 
cogitations  of  his,  and  did  not  share  them 
even  with  Lauderdale.  And  there  were  mo- 
ments when  Colin  felt  the  seriousness  of  the 
position,  and  found  it  very  hard  that  such  a 
necessity  should  meet  him  in  the  face  at  the 
beginning  of  his  career.  Sometimes  in  the 
sudden  darkening,  out  of  the  rosy  clouds 
which  hung  over  the  Campagna,  the  face  of 
the  impossible  woman,  the  ideal  creature, 
her  who  could  have  divined  the  thoughts  in 
his  mind  and  the  movements  in  his  heart 
before  they  came  into  being,  would  glance 
suddenly  out  upon  him  for  an  instant,  and 
then  disappear,  waving  a  shadowy  farewell, 
and  leaving  in  his  mind  a  strange  blank, 
which  the  eight  of  Alice  rather  increased 
than  "removed.  That  ineffable  mate  and  com- 
panion was  never  to  be  his,  the  young  man 
thought.  True,  he  had  never  met  her,  nor 
come  upon  any  trace  of  her  footsteps ;  for 
Matty  Frankland  at  her  best  never  could 
have  been  she.  But  yet,  as  long  as  he  was 
unbound  by  other  tie  or  affection,  this  vision 
was  the  "  not  impossible  She  "  to  Colin  as 
to  all  men  ;  and  this  he  had  to  give  up  ;  for 
Alice,  most  gentle,  patient  Alice,  whom  it 
was  not  in  the  heart  of  man  to  be  otherwise 
than  tender  of, — she  who  had  need  of  him, 
and  whom  his  very  nature  bound  him  to  pro- 
tect and  cherish, — was  not  that  woman.  At 
other  moments  he  thought  of  his  own  life, 
for  which  still  so  much  training  was  neces- 
sary, and  which  he  should  have  entered  in 
the  full  freedom  of  his  youth,  and  was  pro- 
foundly aware  of  the  incumbered  and  help- 
less trim  in  which  he  must  go  into  the  battle, 
obliged  to  take  thought  not  of  his  work  only, 
and  the  best  means  of  doing  it,  but  of  those 
cares  of  living  which  lie  so  lightly  on  a  young 
man  alone.  There  may  be  some  of  Colin's 
friends  who  will  think  the  less  of  him  for  this 
struggle  in  his  mind  ;  and  there  may  be 
many  who  will  think  with  justice  that,  un- 
less he  could  have  offered  love  to  Alice,  he 
had  no  right  to  offer  her  himself  and  his  life, 
— an  opinion  in  which  his  historian  fully 
Egrees.  But  then  this  gift,  though  less  than 
the  best,  was  a  long  way  superior  to  anything 
else  which,  at  the  present  moment,  was  likely 
to  be  offered  to  the  friendless  girl.  If  he 
could  have  laid  at  her  feet  the  heart,  which 
is  the  only  true  exchange  under  euch  circum- 


THE    SOIL. 

stances,  the  chances  are  that  Alice,  in  her 
simplicity  and  gentleness,  would  have  been 
sadly  puzzled  what  to  do  with  that  passionate 
and  ungovernable  thing.  What  he  really 
could  offer  her — affection,  tenderness,  pro- 
tection— was  clearly  comprehensible  to  her. ' 
She  had  no  other  idea  of  love  than  was  in- 
cluded in  those  attributes  and  phases  of  it. 
These  considerations  justified  Colin  in  the 
step  which  he  contemplated,  or  rather  in 
the  step  which  he  did  not  contemplate,  but 
felt  to  be  necessary  and  incumbent  upon  him. 
It  sometimes  occurred  to  him  how,  if  he  had 
been  prudent  and  taken  Lauderdale's  advice, 
and  eschewed  at  the  beginning  the  close  con- 
nection with  INIeredith  and  his  sister,  which  he 
had  entered  into  with  his  eyes  open,  and  with 
a  consciousness  even  that  it  might  affect  his 
life,  this  embarrassing  situation  might  never 
have  come  into  being  ;  and  then  he  smiled  to 
himself,  with  youthful  superiority,  contem- 
plating what  seemed  so  plainly  the  meaning  of 
Providence,  and  asking  himself  how  he,  by  a 
momentary  exercise  of  his  own  will,  could 
have  overthrown  that  distinct  celestial  inten- 
tion. On  the  whole,  it  was  comforting  to 
think  that  everything  had  been  arranged 
beforehand  by  agencies  so  very  clear  and 
traceable  ;  and  with  this  conclusion  of  the 
argument  he  left  off,  as  near  contented  as 
possible,  and  not  indisposed  to  enjoy  the 
advantages  which  were  palpable  before  him  ; 
for,  though  they  were  not  the  eyes  he  had 
dreamed  of,  there  was  a  sweetness  very  well 
worthy  of  close  study  in  Alice  Meredith's 
eyes. 

The  days  passed  very  quietly  in  this  time 
of  suspense.  The  society  of  the  two  stran- 
gers, who  were  more  to  her  in  her  sorrow 
than  all  her  kindred,  supported  the  lonely 
girl  more  than  she  was  aware  of, — more  than 
any  one  could  have  believed.  They  were 
absent  during  the  greater  part  of  the  day, 
and  left  her  unmolested  to  the  tears  that 
would  come,  notwithstanding  all  her  pa- 
tience ;  and  they  returned  to  her  in  the  even- 
ing with  attentions  and  cares  to  which  she 
had  never  been  accustomed,  devoting  two 
original  and  powerful  minds,  of  an  order  at 
once  higher  and  more  homely  than  any 
which  she  had  ever  encountered,  to  her 
amusement  and  consolation.  Alice  had  never 
known  before  what  it  was  to  have  ordinary 
life  and  daily  occurrences  brightened  by  the 
thick-coming    fancies,    the  tender  play  of 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


167 


■word  and  thought,  which  now  surrounded 
her.  She  had  heard  clever  talk  afar  off  "  in 
society,"  and  been,  awe-stricken  by  the 
sound  of  it,  and  she  had  heard  Arthur  and 
his  friends  uttering  much  fine-sounding  lan- 
guage upon  subjects  not  generally  in  her 
way  ;  but  she  was  utterly  unused  to  that 
action  of  uncommon  minds  upon  common 
things  which  gives  so  much  charm  to  the 
ordinary  intercourse  of  life.  All  they  could 
think  of  to  lighten  the  atmosphere  of  the 
house  in  which  she  sat  in  her  deep  mourning, 
absorbed  for  hours  together  in  those  thoughts 
of  the  dead  to  which  her  needlework  afforded 
little  relief,  they  did  with  devotion,  suspend- 
ing their  own  talk  and  occupations  to  occupy 
themselves  with  her.  Colin  read  "  In  Memo- 
riam  "  to  her  till  her  heart  melted  and  relieved 
itself  in  sweet  abundant  tears  ;  and  Lauder- 
dale talked  and  told  her  many  a  homely  his- 
tory of  that  common  course  of  humanity, 
full  of  sorrows  sorer  than  her  own,  which 
fills  young  minds  with  awe.  Between  them 
they  roused  Alice  to  a  higher  platform,  a 
different  atmosphere,  than  she  had  known 
before  ;  and  she  raised  herself  up  after  them 
with  a  half-bewildered  sense  of  elevation, 
not  understanding  how  it  was  ;  and  so  the 
long  days  which  were  so  hard,  and  which 
nothing  in  the  world  could  save  from  being 
hard,  brightened  towards  the  end,  not  cer- 
tainly into  anything  that  could  be  called  pleas- 
ure, but  into  a  sad  expansion  and  elevation 
of  heart,  in  which  faintly  appeared  those 
beginnings  of  profound  and  deep  happiness 
which  are  not  incompatible  with  grief,  and 
yet  are  stronger  and  more  inspiring  than 
joy.  While  this  was  going  on,  unconsciously 
to  any  one  concerned,  Sora  Antonia,  in  her 
white  kerchief  and  apron,  sometimes  knit- 
ting, sometimes  with  her  distaff  like  a  buxom 
Fate,  sat  and  twisted  her  thread  and  turned 
her  spindle  a  little  behind,  yet  not  out  of 
reach,  keeping  a  wary  eye  upon  her  charge. 
She,  too,  interposed,  sometimesher  own  expe- 
riences, sometimes  her  own  comments  upon 
life  and  things  in  general,  into  the  conversa- 
tion ;  and,  whether  it  was  that  Sora  Anto- 
nia's  mind  was  really  of  a  superior  order,  or 
that  the  stately  Roman  speech  threw  a  refin- 
ing color  upon  her  narratives,  it  is  certain 
that  the  interpellations  of  the  Italian  peasant 
fell  without  any  sensible  derogation  into  the 
strain  of  lofty  yet  familiar  talk  which  was 
meant  to  wean  Alice  from  her  special  grief. 


Sora  Antonia  told  them  of  the  other  Fores- 
tieri  who  had  lived  like  themselves  in  the 
Savvelli  palace  :  who  had  come  for  health  and 
yet  had  died,  leaving  the  saddest  mourners, — 
helpless  widows  and  little  children,  heart- 
broken fathers  and  mothers,  perhaps  the 
least  consolable  of  all.  Life  was  such,  she 
said  solemnly,  bowing  her  stately  head. 
She  herself,  of  a  hardy  race,  and  strong,  as 
the  signori  saw,  had  not  she  buried  her  chil- 
dren, for  whom  she  would  have  gladly  died? 
But  the  good  God  had  not  permitted  her  to 
die.  Alice  cried  silently  as  she  heard  all 
this  ;  she  kissed  Sora  Antonia,  who,  for  her 
part,  had  outlived  her  tears,  and  with  a  nat- 
ural impulse  turned  to  Colin,  who  was  young, 
and  in  whose  heart,  as  in  her  own,  there 
must  live  a  natural  protest  against  this  aw- 
ful necessity  of  separation  and  misery  ;  and 
thus  it  came  to  be  Colin's  turn  to  interpose, 
and  he  came  on  the  field  once  more  with  "  In 
Memoriam,"  and  with  other  poems  which  were 
sweet  to  hear,  and  soothed  her  even  when 
she  only  partly  entered  into  their  meaning. 
A  woman  has  an  advantage  under  such  cir- 
cumstances. By  means  of  her  sympathy  and 
gratitude,  and  the  still  deeper  feeling  which 
grew  unconsciously  in  her  heart  towards 
him  who  read,  she  came  to  believe  that  she, 
too,  understood  and  appreciated  what  was  to 
him  so  clear  and  so  touching.  A  kind  of 
spiritual  magnetism  worked  upon  Alice,  and, 
to  all  visible  appearance,  expanded  and  en- 
larged her  mind.  It  was  not  that  her  intel- 
lect itself  grew,  or  that  she  understood  all 
the  beautiful  imaginations,  all  the  tender 
philosophies  thus  unfolded  to  her  ;  but  she 
was  united  in  a  singular  union  of  affectionate 
companionship  with  those  who  did  under- 
stand, and  even  to  herself  she  appeared  able 
to  see,  if  not  with  her  own  eyes  at  least 
with  theirs,  the  new  beauties  and  solemnities 
of  which  she  had  not  dreamed  before.  This 
strange  process  went  on  day  by  day  without 
any  one  being  aware  of  it ;  and  even  Lau- 
derdale had  almost  forgotten  that  their  guar- 
dianship of  Alice  was  only  for  the  moment, 
and  that  the  state  of  affairs  altogether  was 
provisionary  and  could  not  possibly  continue, 
when  an  answer  reached  him  to  his  letter. 
He  was  alone  when  he  received  it,  and  all' 
that  evening  said  nothing  on  the  subject 
until  Alice  had  retired  with  her  watchful 
attendant  ;  then,  without  a  word  of  comment, 
he  put  it  into  Colin's  hand.    It  was  written 


168 


in  a  Btiltcd  hand,  like  that  of  one  unaccus- 
tomed to  writing,  and  was  not  quite  irre- 
proachable even  in  its  spelling.  This  was 
what  Lauderdale's  correspondent  said  : — 

"  Sir, — Your  letter  has  had  such  a  bad 
effect  upon  the  health  of  my  dear  husband, 
that  I  beg  you  wont  trouble  him  with  any 
more  such  communications.  If  its  meant  to 
get  money,  that's  vain  ;  for  neither  him  nor 
me  knows  anything  about  the  friends  Arthur 
may  have  picked  up.  If  he  had  stayed  at 
home,  he  would  have  received  every  attention. 
As  for  his  ungrateful  sister,  I  wont  have  any- 
thing to  say  to  her.  Mr.  Meredith  is  very 
ill,  and,  for  anything  I  know,  may  never  rise 
from  a  bed  of  sickness,  where  he  has  been 
thrown  by  hearing  this  news  so  sudden  ;  but 
I  take  ujaon  me  to  let  her  know  as  he  will 
have  nothing  to  say  to  one  that  could  behave 
80  badly  as  she  has  done.  I  am  always  for 
making  friends  ;  but  she  knows  she  cannot 
expect  much  kindness  from  me  after  all  that 
has  happened.  She  has  money  enough  to 
live  on,  and  she  can  do  as  she  pleases.  Con- 
sidering what  her  ingratitude  has  brought 
her  dear  father  to,  and  that  I  may  be  left 
alone  to  manage  everything  before  many  days 
are  past,  you  will  please  to  consider  that  here 
is  an  end  of  it,  and  not  write  any  more  beg- 
ging Ifctters  to  me. 

"  Julia  Meredith." 

This  communication  Colin  read  with  a 
beating  heart.  It  was  so  different  from  what 
he  expected,  and  left  him  so  free  to  carry  out 
the  dawning  resolution  which  he  had  imag- 
ined himself  executing  in  the  face  of  tyran- 
nical resistance,  that  he  felt  at  first  like  a 
man  who  has  been  straining  hard  at  a  rope 
and  is  suddenly  thrown  down  by  the  instan- 
taneous stoppage  of  the  pressure  on  the  other 
side.  When  he  had  picked  himself  up,  the 
facts  of  the  case  rushed  on  him  distinct  and 
unmistakable.  The  time  had  now  come 
when  the  lost  and  friendless  maiden  stood  in 
the  path  of  the  true  knight.  Was  he  to 
leave  her  there  to  fight  her  way  in  the  hard 
world  by  herself,  without  defence  or  protec- 
tion, because,  sweet  and  fair  and  pure  as  she 
was,  she  was  not  the  lady  of  his  dreams? 
lie  made  up  his  mind  at  once  with  a  thrill 
of  generous  warmth,  but  at  the  same  time 
felt  himself  saying  for  ever  and  ever  farewell 
to  that  ideal  lady  who  henceforward,  in  earth 
or  heaven,  could  never  be  his.  This  passed 
while  he  was  looking  at  the  letter  which 
already  his  rapid  eye  had  read  and  compre- 
hended. "  So  there  is  an  end  of  your  hopes," 
said  Colin.     "  Now  we  are  the  only  friends 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


she  has  in  the  world, — as  I  have  always 
thought." 

"Softly,"  said  Lauderdale.  "  Callants 
like  you  aye  rin  away  with  the  half  of  an 
idea.  Tlris  is  an  ignorant  woman's  letter, 
that  is  glad  to  get  rid  of  her.  The  father 
will  mend,  and  then  he'll  take  her  out  of  our 
hands." 

"  He  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said 
Colin,  hotly.  "  You  speak  as  if  she  was  a 
piece  of  furniture  ;  I  look  upon  her  as  a  sa- 
cred charge.  We  are  responsible  to  Mere- 
dith for  his  sister's  comfort  and — happiness," 
said  the  young  man,  who  during  this  conver- 
sation preferred  not  to  meet  his  companion's 
eye. 

"  Ay!  "  said  Lauderdale,  dryly,  "  that's 
an  awfu'  charge  for  the  like  of  you  and  me. 
It's  more  that  I  ever  calculated  on,  Colin. 
To  see  her  safe  home,  and  in  the  hands  of  her 
friends  " — 

"  Lauderdale,  do  not  be  so  heartless  !  can- 
not you  see  that  she  has  no  friends?  "  cried 
Colin;  "not  a  protector  in  the  world  ex- 
cept " — 

"  Gallant,  dinna  deceive  yourself,"  said 
Lauderdale;  "it's  no  a  matter  for  hasty 
judgment ;  we  have  nae  right  to  pass  sen- 
tence on  a  man's  character.  He's  her  father, 
and  it's  her  duty  to  obey  him.  I'm  no  heed- 
ing about  that  silly  woman's  letter.  Mr. 
Meredith  will  mend.  I'm  here  to  take  care 
of  you,"  said  Colin's  guardian.  "  Colin, 
hold  your  peace.  You're  no  to  do  for  a  mo- 
ment's excitement,  for  pity  and  ruth  and 
your  own  tender  heart,  what  you  may  regret 
all  your  life.  Sit  down  and  keep  still.  You 
are  only  a  callant,  too  young  to  take  burdens 
on  yourself ;  there  is  but  one  way  that  the 
like  of  you  can  protect  the  like  of  her, — and 
that  is  no  to  be  thought  of,  as  you  consented 
with  your  own  mouth." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,"  said  Colin,  who 
had  risen  up  in  his  excitement.  "  There  is 
but  one  way.  Matters  have  changed  since 
we  spoke  of  it  first." 

"  1  would  like  to  know  how  far  they  have 
changed,"  said  Lauderdale.  "  Colin,  take 
heed  to  what  I  say  ;  if  it's  love  I'll  no  speak 
a  word  ;  I  may  disapprove  a'  the  circum- 
stances, and  find  fault  with  every  step  ye  take ; 
but  if  it's  love  " — 

"Hush!"  said  Colin,  standing  upright, 
and  meeting  his  friend's  eye  ;  "if  it  should 
happen  to  be  my  future  wife  wc  are  speaking 


A    SON    OP    THE    SOIL. 


of,  my  feelings  toward  her  are  not  to  be  dis- 
cussed with  any  man  in  the  world." 

They  looked  at  each  other  thus  for  a  mo- , 
ment,  the  one  anxious  and  scrutinizing,  the 
tther  facing  him  with  blank  brightness,  and 
a  smile  which  aiforded  no  information.  Per- 
Lape  Lauderdale  understood  all  that  was  im- 
plied in  that  blank ;  at  all  events,  his  own 
delicate  sense  of  honor  could  not  refuse  to 
admit  Col  in 's  plea.  He  Jurned  away,  shak- 
ing his  head,  and  groaning  privately  under 
his  breath  ;  while  Colin,  struck  with  com- 
punction, having  shut  himself  up  for  an  in- 
stant, unfolded  again,  that  crisis  being  over, 
with  all  the  happy  grace  of  apology  natural 
to  his  disposition.  "  You  are  not '  any  man 
in  the  world,'  "  he  said,  with  a  short  laugh, 
which  implied  emotion.  "  Forgive  me, 
Lauderdale  ;  and  now  you  know  very  well 
what  I  am  going  to  do." 

"Oh,  ay,  I  ken  what  you  are  going  to  do ; 
I  kent  three  months  ago,  for  that  matter," 
said  the  philosopher.  "  A  man  acts  no  from 
circumstances,  as  is  generally  supposed,  but 
from  his  ain  nature."  When  he  had  given 
forth  this  oracular  utterance,  Lauderdale 
went  straight  off  to  his  room  without  ex- 
changing another  word  with  Colin.  He  was 
satisfied  in  a  way  with  this  mate  for  his 
charge,  and  belonged  to  too  lowly  a  level  of 
society  to  give  profound  importance  to  the  in- 
expediency of  early  marriages, — and  he  was 
fond  of  Alice,  and  admired  her  sweet  looks 
and  sweet  ways,  and  respected  her  self-com- 
mand and  patience ;  nevertheless,  he,  too, 
sighed,  and  recognized  the  departure  of  the 
ideal  woman ,  who  to  him  as  little  as  to  Colin 
resembled  Alice, — and  thus  it  was  understood 
between  them  how  it  was  to  be. 

All  this,  it  may  be  imagined,  was  little 
compatible  with  that  reverential  regard  for 
womankind  in  general  which  both  the  friends 
entertained,  and  evidenced  a  security  in  re- 
spect to  Alice's  inclinations  which  was  not 
altogether  complimentary  to  her.  And  yet 
it  was  highly  complimentary  in  a  sense  ;  for 
this  security  arose  from  their  appreciation  of 
the  spotless,  unawakened  heart  with  which 
they  had  to  deal.  If  Colin  entertained  little 
ioubt  of  being  accepted  when  he  made  his 
proposition,  it  was  not  because  he  had  an 
overweening  idea  of  himself,  or  imagined 
Alice  "  in  love"  with  him  according  to  the 
vulgar  expression.  A  certain  chivalrous, 
primitive  sense  of  righteous  and  natural  ne- 


169 

cessity  was  in  his  confidence.  The  forlorn 
maiden,  knowing  the  knight  to  be  honest  and 
true,  would  accept  his  protection  loyally  and 
simply,  without  bewildering  herself  with 
dreams  of  choice  where  no  choice  was,  and 
having  accepted,  would  love  and  cleave  as  was 
her  nature.  To  be  sure  there  were  types  of 
women  less  acquiescent  ;  and  we  have  already 
said  that  Alice  did  not  bear  the  features  of 
the  ideal  of  which  Colin  had  dreamed  :  but 
such  was  the  explanation  of  his  confidence. 
Alice  showed  little  distress  when  she  saw  her 
step-mother's  letter  except  for  her  father's  ill- 
ness, though  even  that  seemed  rather  consol- 
atory to  her  than  otherwise,  as  a  proof  of 
his  love  for  Arthur.  As  for  Mrs.  Meredith's 
refusal  to  interfere  on  her  behalf,  she  was 
clearly  relieved  by  the  intimation  ;  and  things 
went  on  as  before  for  another  week  or  two, 
until  Sora  Antonia,  who  had  now  other  ten- 
ants arriving  and  many  occupations  in  hand, 
began  to  murmur  a  little  over  the  watch 
which  she  would  not  relinquish.  "  Is  it  thus 
young  ladies  are  left  in  England,"  she  asked 
with  a  little  indignation,  "  without  any  one 
to  take  care  of  them  except  the  signori,  who, 
though  amiable  and  excellent,  are  only  men  ? 
or  when  may  madama  be  expected  from  Eng- 
land who  is  to  take  charge  of  the  signorina  ?  " 
It  was  after  this  question  had  been  put  to 
him  with  some  force  one  evening,  that  Colin 
proposed  to  Alice,  who  was  beginning  to  lift 
her  head  again  like  a  flower  after  a  storm, 
and  to  show  symptoms  of  awakening  from  the 
first  heaviness  of  grief,  to  go  out  with  him 
and  visit  those  ilex  avenues,  which  had  now 
so  many  associations  for  the  strangers.  She 
went  with  a  faint  sense  of  pleasure  in  her 
heart  through  the  afternoon  sunshine,  look- 
ing wistfully  through  her  black  veil  at  the 
many  cheerful  groups  on  the  way,  and  cling- 
ing to  Colin's  arm  when  a  kind  neighbor 
spoke  to  her  in  pity  and  condolence.  She 
put  up  her  veil  when  they  came  to  the  favor- 
ite avenue,  where  Lauderdale  and  Colin 
walked  so  often.  Nothing  could  be  more 
silent,  more  cool  and  secluded  than  this  ver- 
dant Qloister,  where,  with  the  sunshine  still 
blazing  everywhere  around,  the  shade  and 
the  quiet  were  equally  profound  and  unbro- 
ken. They  walked  once  or  twice  up  and 
down,  remarking  now  and  then  upon  the 
curious  network  of  the  branches,  which,  out 
of  reach  of  the  sun,  were  all  bare  and 
stripped  of  their  foliage,  and  upon  the  blue 


170 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


blaze  of  daylight  at  either  opening,  where 
the  low  arch  of  dark  verdure  framed  in  a 
space  of  brilliant  Italian  sky.  Then  they 
both  became  silent,  and  grew  conscious  of  it ; 
and  it  was  then,  just  as  Alice  for  the  first 
time  began  to  remember  the  privileges  and 
penalties  of  her  womanhood,  that  Colin 
spoke, — 

"  I  brought  you  here  to  speak  to  you,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say.  That 
letter  that  Lauderdale  showed  you  did  not 
vex  you  ;  did  it  ?  Will  you  tell  me  ?  Arthur 
made  me  one  of  your  guardians,  and,  what- 
ever you  may  decide  upon,  that  is  a  sacred 
bond." 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,"  said  Alice,  with  tears,  "  I 
know  how  kind  you  both  are.  No,  it  did  not 
vex  me,  except  about  papa.  I  was  rather 
glad,  if  I  may  say  so,  that  she  did  not  send 
for  me  home.  It  is  not — a — home — like 
what  it  used  to  be,"  said  Alice;  and  then, 
perhaps  because  something  in  Colin's  looks 
had  advertised  her  of  what  was  coming, 
perhaps  because  the  awakening  sense  sprung 
up  in  a  moment,  after  long  torpor,  a  sudden 
change  came  upon  her  face.  "  1  have  given 
you  a  great  deal  of  trouble,"  she  said  ;  "  1 
am  like  somebody  who  has  had  a  terrible  fall, 
— as  soon  as  I  come  to  myself  I  shall  go  away. 
It  is  very  wrong  of  me  to  detain  you  here." 

"You  are  not  detaining  us,"  said  Colin, 
who,  notwithstanding,  was  a  little  startled 
and  alarmed;  "and  you  must  not  talk  of 
going  away.  Where  would  you  go  ?  Are 
not  we  your  friends, — the  'friends  you  know 
best  in  Italy  ?  You  must  not  think  of  going 
away." 

But  even  these  very  words  thus  repeated 
acted  like  an  awakening  spell  upon  Alice. 
"  I  cannot  tell  what  I  have  been  thinking  of," 
she  said.  "  I  si^ppose  it  is  staying  indoors 
and  forgetting  everything.  I  do  not  seem  to 
know  even  how  long  it  is.  Oh,  yes,  you  are 
my  kindest  friends.  Nobody  ever  was  so 
good  to  me  ;  but,  then,  you  are  only — gen- 
tlemen," said  Alice,  suddenly  withdrawing 
her  hand  from  Colin's  arm,  and  blushing  over 
all  her  pallid  face.  "  Ah  !  I  see  now  how 
stupid  I  have  been  to  put  off  so  long.  And 
I  am  sure  I  must  have  detained  you  here." 

"  No,"  said  Colin,  "  do  not  say  so  ;  but  I 
have  something  more  to  say  to  you.  You  are 
too  young  and  too  delicate  to  face  the  world 
alone,  and  your  people  at  home  are  not  going 


to  claim  you.  I  am  a  poor  man  now,  and  I 
never  can  be  rich,  but  I  woufd  protect  yon 
and  support  you  if  you  would  have  me. 
Will  you  trust  me  to  take  care  of  you,  Alice, 
not  for  this  moment,  but  always?  1  think  it 
would  be  the  best  thing  for  us  both." 

"  Mr.  Campbell,  I  don't  understand  you," 
said  Alice,  trembling  and  casting  a  glance  up 
at  him  of  wistful  surprise  and  uncertainty. 
There  was  an  eager,  timid  inquiry  in  her 
eyes  besides  the  bewilderment.  She  seemed 
to  say,  "  What  is  it  you  mean?"  "  Is  that 
what  you  mean?"  and  Colin  answered  by 
taking  her  hand  again  and  drawing  it  through 
his  arm. 

"  Whether  you  will  have  me  or  rot,"  he 
said,  "  there  is  always  the  bond  between  us 
which  Arthur  has  made  sacred,  and  you  must 
lean  on  me  all  the  same.  I  think  you  will 
see  what  I  mean  if  you  consider  it.  There 
is  only  one  way  that  1  can  be  your  true  pro- 
tector and  guardian,  and  that  is  if  you  will 
consent  to  marry  me,  Alice.  Will  you? 
-You  know  I  have  nothing  to  offer  you  ;  but 
I  can  work  for  you,  and  take  care  of  you, 
and  with  me  you  would  not  be  alone." 

It  was  a  strange  way  of  putting  it  cei^ 
tainly, — very  different  from  what  Colin  had 
intended  to  say,  strangely  different  from  the 
love-tale  that  had  glided  through  his  imagi- 
nation by  times  since  he  became  a  man  ;  but 
he  was  very  earnest  and  sincere  in  what  he 
said,  and  the  innocent  girl  beside  him  was 
no  critic  in  snch  matters.  She  trembled 
more  and  more,  but  she  leaned  upon  him 
and  heard  him  out  with  anxious  attention. 
When  he  had  ended,  there  was  a  pause,  dur- 
ing which  Colin,  who  had  not  hitherto  been 
doubtful,  began  himself  to  feel  anxious;  and 
then  Alice  once  more  gave  a  wistful,  inquir- 
ing look  at  his  face. 

"  Don't  be  angry  with  me,"  she  said  ; 
"it  is  so  hard  to  know  what  to  say.  If  yon 
would  tell  me  one  thing  quite  truly  and  frank- 
ly—  Would  it  not  do  you  a  great  deal  of 
harm  if  this  was  to  happen  as  you  say  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Colin.  When  he  said  the  word 
he  could  not  help  remembering,  in  spite  of 
himself,  the  change  it  would  make  in  his 
young  prospects ;  but  the  result  was  only  that 
he  repeated  his  negative  with  more  warmth- 
"  It  can  do  me  only  good,"  said  Colin,  yielding 
to  the  natural  temptations  of  the  moment, 
"and  I  think  I  might  do  something  fur  your 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


happiness  too.  It  is  for  you  to  decide, — do 
not  decide  against  me,  Alice,"  said  the  young 
man  ;   "  I  cannot  part  with  you  now." 

"  Ah!  " —  Baid  Alice  with  a  long  breath. 
"If  it  only  would  not  do  you  any  harm," 
she  added,  a  moment  after,  once  more  with 
that  inquiring  look.  The  inquiry  was  one 
which  could  be  answered  but  in  one  way, 
and  Colin  was  not  a  man  to  remain  unmoved 
by  the  wistful,  sweet  eyes  thus  raised  to  him, 
and  by  the  tender  dependence  of  the  clinging 
arm.  He  set  her  doubts  at  rest  almost  as 
eloquently,  and  quite  as  warmly,  as  if  she 
had  indeed  been  that  woman  who  had  disap- 
peared among  the  clouds  forever,  and  led  her 
home  to  Sora  Antonia  with  a  fond  care, 
which  was  very  sweet  to  the  forlorn  little 
maiden,  and  not  irksome  by  any  means  to 
the  magnanimous  knight.  Thus  the  deci- 
sive step  was  taken  in  obedience  to  the  neces- 
sities of  the  position,  and  the  arrangements 
(as  Colin  had  decided  upon  them)  of  Provi- 
dence. When  he  met  Lauderdale  and  in- 
formed him  of  the  new  event,  the  young  man 
looked  flushed  and  happy,  as  was  natural  in 
the  circumstances,  and  disposed  of  all  the 
objections  of  prudence  with  great  facility  and 


171 


satisfaction.  It  was  a  moonlight  night,  and 
Colin  and  his  friend  went  out  to  the  loggia 
on  the  roof  of  the  house,  and  plunged  into  a 
sea  of  discussion,  through  which  the  young 
lover  steered  triumphantly  the  frailest  bark 
of  argument  that  ever  held  water.  But, 
when  the  talk  was  over,  and  Colin,  before 
he  followed  Lauderdale  down-stairs,  turned 
round  to  take  a  parting  look  at  the  Campag- 
na,  which  lay  under  them  like  a  great  map 
in  the  moonlight,  the  old  apparition  looked 
out  once  more  from  the  clouds,  pale  and  dis- 
tant, and  again  seemed  to  wave  to  him  a 
shadowy  farewell.  "Farewell!  farewell! 
in  heaven  nor  in  earth  will  you  ever  find 
me,"  sighed  the  woman  of  Colin's  imagina- 
tion, dispersing  into  thin  white  mists  and 
specks  of  clouds  ;  and  the  young  man  went 
to  rest  with  a  vague  sense  of  loss  in  his  heart. 
The  sleep  of  Alice  was  sweeter  than  that  of 
Colin  on  this  first  night  of  their  betrothal ; 
but  at  that  one  period  of  existence,  it  often 
happens  that  the  woman,  for  once  in  her  life, 
has  the  advantage.  And  thus  it  was  that 
the  event,  foreseen  by  Lauderdale  on  board 
the  steamer  at  the  beginning  of  their  a**^ 
quaintance,  actually  came  to  pass. 


172 


A    SON   OF   THE    SOIL. 


TART   XIII. — CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

This    important  decision,   when   at    last 
finally  Bcttled,  necessitated  other  steps  more 
embarrassing  and  diJEcult  than  anything  that 
could  be  discussed  in  the  ilex  avenue.     Even 
Sora  Antonia's  protection  ceased  to  be  alto- 
gether satisfactory  to  the  suddenly-awakened 
mind  of  Alice,  who  at  the  same  time  was  so 
unaccustomed  to  think  or  act  for  herself  that 
she  knew  not  what  to  do  in  the  emergency. 
If  Colin  had  been  the  kind  of  man  who  would 
have  decided  for  her  at  once,  and  indicated 
what  he  thought  she  ought  to  do,  Alice  was 
the  kind  of  woman  to  act  steadily  and  bravely 
upon  the    indication.     But,  unfortunately, 
Colin  did  not  understand  how  to  dictate  to 
a  woman,  having  known  most  intimately  of 
all  womankind  his  mother,  who  was  treated 
after  an  altogether  different  fashion ;    and 
Lauderdale,  though  sufficiently  aware  of  the 
embarrassing  nature  of  their   position,  be- 
longed, notwithstanding  his  natural  refine- 
ment, to  a  class  which  sets  no  great  store 
upon  punctilio.     Now  that  everything  was 
settled  between  the  "  young  folk,"  Alice's 
unprotected   state  did  not  distress  him  so 
much    as  formerly.     The  marriage,   which 
must  take  place  immediately,  was  already  in 
his  eye  a  sufficient  shelter  for  the  solitary 
girl ;  and  the  indecorum  of  the  whole  busi- 
ness no   longer  occurred   to  him.     As  for 
Colin,  he,  as  was  natural,  regarded  with 
certain  excitement  the  sti'ange  step  he  was 
about  to  take,  not  knowing  what  anybody 
would  think  of  it,  nor  how  he.  was  to  live 
with  his  bride,  nor  what  influence  an  act  so 
unsuitable  to  his  circumstances  would  have 
upon  his  prospects  and  position.     It  was  of 
a  piece  with  the  rashness  and  visionary  char- 
acter of  the  whole  transaction,  that  Alice's 
money,  which  she  had  herself  recurred  to  as 
"enough  to  live  upon,"  never  entered  into 
the  calculations  of  the  young  man  who  was 
going  to  marry  on  the  Snell  scholarship, 
without  being  at  all  convinced  in  his  own 
mind  that  the  Snell  scliolarship  could  beheld 
by  a  married  man.     A  married  man!    the 
title  had  an  absurd  sound  as  applied  to  him- 
self, even  in  his  own  ears.     He  was  just 
over  onc-and-twenty,  and  had  not  a  penny 
in  the  world.    But  these  considerations,  after 
all,  had  not  half  so  much  effect  upon  him  as 
the  thought  of  his  mother's  grave  counte- 
nance when  she  should  read  his  next  letter, 
and  the  displeasure  of  bis  father,  who  per- 


haps already  regarded  with  a  not  altogether 
satisfied  eye  the  spectacle  of  a  son  of  his  gone 
abroad  for  his  health.     If  Colin  could  but 
have  made  sure  of  the  nature  of  the  recep- 
tion he  was  likely  to  have  at  Ramore,  pru- 
dential considerations  of  any  other  cliaracter 
would  have  had  but  a  momentary  weight ; 
but  at  present,  amid  his  other  perplexities, 
the  young  man  felt  a  certain  boyish  confu- 
sion at  the  thought  of  asking  his  mother  to 
receive  and  recognize  his  wife.     However, 
the  important  letter  had  been  written  and 
was  on  its  way,  and  he  could  only  hope  that 
his  previous  letters  had  prepared  the  house- 
hold for  that  startling  intimation.     Apart 
from  Ramore,  the  matter  had  a  less  serious 
aspect ;  for  Colin,  who  had  been  poor  all  his 
life,  no  more  believed  in  poverty  than  if  he 
had  been  a  prince,  and  had  a  certain  instinct- 
ive certainty  of  getting  what  he  wanted, 
which  belonged  to  his  youth.     Besides,  he 
was  not  a  poor  gentleman,  hampered    and 
helpless,  but  knew,  at  the  worst,  that  ho 
could  always  work  for  his  wife.    At  the 
same  time,  in  the  midst  of  all  the  serious- 
ness of  the  position, — of  his  tender  affection 
for  Alice,  and  reverence  for  her  helplessness, 
and  even  of  that  inexpressible  blank  and 
sense  of  disappointment  in  his  heart  which 
even  his  affection  could  not  quite  neutralize, 
— a  curious  sense  of  humor,  and  feeling  that 
the  whole  matter  was  a  kind  of  practical  joke 
on  a  grand  scale,  intruded  into  Colin's  ideas 
from  time  to  time,  and  made  him  laugh,  and 
then  made  him  furious  with    himself;    for 
Alice,  to  be  sure,  saw  no  joke  in  the  mat- 
ter.    She  was,  indeed,  altogether  wanting  in 
the  sense  of  humor,  if  even  her  grief  would 
have  permitted  her  to  exercise  it,  and  was 
sufficiently  occupied  by  the  real  difficulties  of 
her  position,  secluding  herself  in  Sora  Anto- 
nia's apartments,  and  wavering  in  an  agony 
of  timidity  and  uncertainty  over  the  idea  of 
leaving  that  kind  protector  and  going  somc- 
wliere  else,  even  though  among  strangers,  in 
order  to  obey  the  necessary  proprieties.     She 
had  not  a  soul  .^  consult  about  what  she 
should  do,  except  Sora  Antonia  herself  and 
Lauderdale,  neither  of  whom  now  thought  it 
necessary  to  suggest  a  removal  on  the  part 
of  either  of  the  young  people ;  and  though 
thoughts  of  going  into  Rome,  and  finding 
somebody  who  would  give  her  shelter  for  a 
week  or  two  till  Colin's  arrangements  were 
complete,  hovered  in  the  mind  of  Alice,  she 


had  no  courage  to  carry  out  such  an  idea, 
being  still  in  her  first  grief,  poor  child,  al- 
though this  new  excitement  had  entered  into 
her  life. 

As  for  Colin,  affairs  went  much  less  easily 
with  him  when  he  betook  himself  to  the  Eng- 
lish clergyman  to  ask  his  services.  The  in- 
quiries instituted  by  this  new  judge  were  of  a 
kind  altogether  unforeseen  by  the  thoughtless 
young  man.  To  be  sure,  a  mourning  sister 
is  not  usually  married  a  few  weeks  after  her 
brother's  death,  and  the  questioner  was  justi- 
fied .  in  thinking  the  circumstance  strange. 
Nor  was  it  at  all  difficult  to  elicit  from  Colin 
a  story  which,  viewed  by  suspicious  and  igno- 
rant eyes,  threw  quite  a  different  color  on 
the  business.  The  young  lady  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  Mr.  Meredith  of  Maltby,  as  the  clergy- 
man, who  had  laid  Arthur  in  his  grave,  was 
already  aware.  She  was  young,  under  age, 
and  her  father  had  not  been  consulted  about 
her  proposed  marriage  ;  and  she  was  at  pres- 
ent entirely  in  the  hands  and  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  young  Scotchman,  who,  though 
his  manners  were  considered  irreproachable 
by  Miss  Matty  Frankland,  who  was  a  critic 
in  manners,  still  lacked  certain  particulars 
in  his  general  demeanor  by  which  the  higher 
class  of  Englishmen  are  distinguished.  He 
was  more  interested,  more  transparent,  more 
expressive  than  he  would  probably  have  been, 
had  he  been  entirely  Alice's  equal ;  and  he 
was  slightly  wanting  in  calmness  and  th* 
soft  haze  of  impertinence  which  sets  off  good- 
breeding, — in  short,  he  had  not  the  full  ring 
of  the  genuine  metal ;  and  a  man  who  lived  in 
Rome,  and  was  used  to  stories  of  adventures 
and  interested  marriages,  not  unnaturally 
jumped  at  the  conclusion  that  Colin  (being  a 
Scotchman  beside,  and  consequently,  the  im» 
personation,  save  the  mark  !  of  money-get- 
ting) was  bent  upon  securing  to  himself  the 
poor  little  girl's  fortune.  Before  the  cross- 
examination  was  done,  Colin  began  somehow 
to  feel  himself  a  suspicious  character ;  for  it 
is  astonishing  what  an  effect  there  is  in  that 
bland  look  of  superior  penetration  and  air 
of  seeing  through  a  subject,  however  aware 
the  person  under  examination  may  be  that 
his  judge  knows  nothing  about  it.  Then  the 
investigator  turned  the  discussion  upon  pe- 
cuniary matters,  which  after  all  was  the 
branch  of  examination  for  which  Colin  was 
least  prepared. 

"  Miss  IMeredith  has  some  fortune,  I  pre- 


A   SON    OF   THE   SOIL.  173 

sume?"  he  said.     "Is  it  at  her  ovra  dis- 
posal? for  on  this,  as  well  as  on  other  mat- 


ters, it  appears  to  me  absolutely  necessary 
that  her  father  should  be  consulted." 

"  I  have  already  told  you  that  her  father 
has  been  consulted,"  said  Colin,  with  a  little 
vexation,  "  and  you  have  seen  the  answer  to 
my  friend's  letter.  I  have  not  the  least  idea 
what  her  fortune  is,  or  if  she  has  any.  Yes, 
I  recollect  she  said  she  had  enough  to  live 
upon  ;  but  it  did  not  occur  to  me  to  make  any 
inquiries  on  the  subject,"  said  the  young 
man ;  which  more  than  ever  confirmed  his 
questioner  that  this  was  not  a  member  of  the 
higher  class  with  whom  he  had  to  deal. 

"And  you?"  he  said.  "Your  friends 
are  aware,  I  presume — and  your  means  are 
sufficient  to  maintain" — 

"  I,  "  said  Colin,  who  with  difficulty  re- 
strained a  smile, — "  I  have  not  very  much  ; 
but  I  am  quite  able  to  work  for  my  wife.  It 
seems  to  me,  however,  that  this  examination 
is  more  than  I  bargained  for.  If  Miss  Mere- 
dith is  satisfied  on  these  points,  that  is  surely 
enough, — seeing,  unfortunately  that  she  has 
no  one  to  stand  by  her" — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  clergyman, 
"  it  is  the  duty  of  my  office  to  stand  by  her. 
I  do  not  see  that  I  can  carry  out  your  wishes, 
— certainly  not  without  having  a  conversa- 
tion with  the  young  lady.  I  cannot  say  that 
I  feel  satisfied ;  not  that  I  blame  you,  of 
course, — but  you  are  a  very  young  man,  and 
your  feelings,  you  know,  being  involved. 
However,  my  wife  and  myself  will  see  Miss 
Meredith,  and  you  can  call  on  me  again." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Colin,  getting  up  ;  and 
then,  after  making  a  step  or  two  to  the  door, 
he  returned.  "  I  am  anxious  to  have  every- 
thing concluded  the  earliest  possible  mo- 
ment, "  he  said.  "  Pray  do  not  lose  any  time. 
She  is  very  solitary,  and  has  no  proper  pro- 
tector," Colin  continued,  with  an  ingenuous 
flush  on  his  face.  He  looked  so  young,  so 
honest,  and  earnest,  that  even  experience  was 
shaken  for  the  moment  by  the  sight  of  Truth. 
But  then  it  is  the  business  of  experience  to 
fence  off  Truth,  and  defy  the  impressions  of 
Nature,  and  so  the  representative  of  au- 
thority, though  shaken  for  a  moment,  did  not 
give  in. 

"  By  the  by,  I  fear  I  did  not  understand 
you,"  he  said.  "  You  are  not  living  in  the 
same  house?  Considering  all  the  circum- 
stances, I  cannot  think  that  proper.     Eithei 


174 

she  should  find  another  home,  or  you  should 
leave  the  house, — any  gentleman  would  have 
thought  of  that,"  said  the  priest,  severely, 
perhaps  1)y  way  of  indemnifying  himself  for 
the  passing  sentiment  of  kindness  which  had 
moved  him.  Colin 's  face  grew  crimson  at 
these  words.  The  idea  flashed  upon  himself  for 
the  first  time,  and  filled  him  with  shame  and 
confusion  ;  but  the  young  man  had  so  flir  at- 
tained that  perfection  of  good  breeding  which 
is  only  developed  by  contact  with  men,  that 
the  reproof,  which  was  just,  did  not  irritate 
him — a  fact  which  once  more  made  the  clergy- 
man waver  in  his  opinion. 

"  It  is  very  true,"  said  Colin  confused,  yet 
impulsive  ;  "  though  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I 
never  thought  of  it  before.  We  have  all 
been  so  much  occupied  with  poor  Arthur. 
But  what  you  say  is  perfectly  just,  and  I  am 
obliged  to  you  for  the  suggestion.  I  shall 
take  rooms  in  Rome  to-night." 

Upon  which  the  two  parted  with  more 
amity  than  could  have  been  expected  :  for 
Colin's  clerical  judge  was  pleased  to  have  his 
advice  taken  so  readily,  as  was  natural,  and 
began  to  incline  towards  the  opinion  that  a 
young  man  who  did  not  resent  the  imputa- 
tion of  having  failed  in  a  point  which  "  any 
gentleman  would  have  thought  of,"  but  con- 
fessed without  hesitation  that  it  had  not  oc- 
curred to  him,  could  be  nothing  less  than  a 
gentleman.  Notwithstanding,  the  first  step 
taken  by  this  sensible  and  experienced  man 
was  to  write  a  letter  by  that  day's  post  to 
Mr.  Meredith  of  Maltby,  informing  him  of 
the  application  Colin  had  just  made.  He 
knew  nothing  against  the  young  man,  the 
reverend  gentleman  was  good  enough  to  say, 
— he  was  very  young  and  well-looking,  and 
had  a  good  expression,  and  might  be  an  un- 
exceptionable connection  ;  but  still,  without 
her  father's  consent,  Mr.  Meredith  might  rest 
assured  he  would  take  no  steps  in  the  busi- 
ness. When  he  had  written  this  letter,  the 
clergyman  summoned  his  wife  and  took  the 
trouble  of  going  out  to  Frascati  to  see  Alice, 
which  he  would  not  have  done,  had  ho  not 
been  a  just  and  kind  man  :  while  at  the  same 
time  his  heart  was  relenting  to  Colin,  whom 
the  clerical  couple  met  in  the  street,  and  who 
took  off  his  hat  when  he  encountered  them, 
without  the  least  shadow  of  resentment.  It 
is  80  long  since  all  this  happened  that  the 
name  of  the  clergyman  thus  temporarily  oc- 


A    SON   OF    THE    SOIL. 


cupying  the  place  of  the  chaplain  at  Rome  has 

escaped  recollection,  and  Colin's  historian 
has  no  desire  to  coin  names  or  confuse  identi- 
ties. The  gentleman  in  question  was,  it  ia 
supposed,  anEnglishrectortaking  his  holiday. 
lie  went  out  to  Frascati,  like  an  honorable 
and  just  person  as  he  was,  to  see  what  the 
solitary  girl  was  about  thus  left  to  the 
chances  of  the  world,  and  found  Alice  in  the 
great  salone  in  her  black  dress,  under  charge 
of  Sora  Antonia,  who  sat  with  her  white 
handkerchief  on  her  ample  shoulders,  twirl- 
ing her  spindle,  and  spinning  along  with  her 
thread  many  a  tale  of  checkered  human  exist- 
ence for  the  amusement  of  her  charge  ;  who, 
however,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  had 
begun  to  be  unconscious  of  what  was  said  to 
her  and  to  spend  her  days  in  strains  of  reverie 
all  unusual  to  Alice, — mingled  dreams  and  in- 
tentions, dim  pictures  of  the  life  that  was  to 
be,  and  purposes  which  were  to  be  carried  out 
therein.  Sora  Antonia's  stories,  which  re- 
quired no  answer,  were  very  congenial  to 
Alice's  state  of  mind ;  and  now  and  then  a 
word  from  the  narrative  fell  into  and  gave  a 
new  direction  to  her  thoughts.  From  all  tliis 
she  woke  up  with  a  little  start  when  the  Eng- 
lish visitors  entered,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
she  restrained  the  tears  which  came  in  a 
choking  flood  when  she  recognized  the  clergy- 
man. He  had  seen  Arthur  repeatedly  dur- 
ing his  illness  and  had  given  him  the  sacra- 
•lent,  and  laid  him  in  his  grave,  and  all  the 
associations  connected  with  him  were  too 
much  for  her,  although  after  Arthur's  death 
the  good  man  had  forgotten  the  poor  little 
mourning  sister.  When  she  recovered,  how- 
ever, Alice  was  much  more  able  to  cope  with 
her  reverend  questioner  than  Colin  had  been, 
— perhaps  because  she  was  a  woman,  perhaps 
because  she  had  more  of  the  ease  of  society, 
perhaps  because  in  this  matter  at  least  her 
own  feelings  were  more  profound  and  un- 
mixed than  those  of  her  young  fiance.  She 
composed  herself  with  an  eflbrt  when  he  in- 
troduced the  object  of  his  visit,  recognizing 
the  necessity  of  explanation,  and  ready  to 
give  all  that  was  in  her  power. 

"  No  ;  papa  docs  not  know,"  said  Alice, 
"  but  it  is  because  he  hfis  taken  no  charge  of 
me — he  has  left  me  to  myself.  I  should  not 
have  minded  so  much  if  you  had  been  of  our 
county,  for  then  you  would  have  understood; 
but  you  arc  a  clergjmian,  and  Mrs." — 


A   SON    OF   THE    SOIL. 


"  I  am  a  clergyman's  wife,"  the  lady  said, 
kindly  ;  "  anything  you  eay  will  be  sacred  to 
me." 

"Ah,"  said  Alice,  with  a  little  impatient 
Bigh  ;  and  slic  could  not  help  looking  at  tlie 
door,  and  longing  for.Colin,  who  was  coming 
no  more,  though  she  did  not  know  that ;  for 
the  girl,  though  she  was  not  clever,  had  a 
perception  within  her,  such  as  never  would 
have  come  to  Colin,  that,  notwithstanding 
tliis  solemn  assurance,  the  fact  that  her  visitor 
was  a  clergyman's  wife  would  not  prevent  her 
story  from  oozing  out  into  the  common  cur- 
rent of  English  talk  in  Rome  ;  but  notwith- 
standing, Alice,  whose  ideas  of  her  duty  to 
the  world  were  very  clear,  knew  that  the 
story  must  be  told.  She  went  on  accordingly 
very  steadily,  though  with  tlirills  and  flushes 
of  color  coming  and  going — and  the  chances 
are  that  Colin's  ideal  woman,  could  she  have 
been  placed  in  the  same  position  would  not 
have  acquitted  herself  half  so  well. 

"  It  will  be  necessary  to  tell  you  everything 
from  the  beginning,  or  you  will  not  understand 
it,"  said  Alice.  "  Papa  did  not  do  exactly  as 
Arthur  thought  right  in  some  things,  and, 
though  I  did  not  think  myself  a  judge,  I — I 
took  Arthur's  side  a  little  ;  and  then  Mrs. 
Meredith  came  to  Maltby  suddenly  with  the 
children.  It  was  a  great  surprise  to  vis,  for 
we  did  not  know  till  that  moment  that  papa 
had  married  again.  I  would  rather  not  say 
anything  abftut  Mrs.  Meredith,"  said  Alice, 
showing  aOT;le  agitation,  "  but  Arthur  did 
dot  think  she  was  a  person  whom  I  could 
stay  with  ;  and  when  he  had  to  leave  himself, 
he  brought  me  with  him.  Indeed,  I  wanted 
very  much  to  come.  I  could  not  bear  that 
he  should  go  away  by  himself;  and  I  should 
have  died,  had  I  been  left  there  with  papa,  and 
everything  so  changed .  I  wrote  after  we  left , 
but  papa  would  not  answer  my  letter,  nor 
take  any  notice  of  us.  I  am  very  sorry,  Ijut 
I  cannot  help  it.  That  is  all.  I  suppose  you 
heard  of  Mrs.  Meredith's  letter  to  Mr.  Lauder- 
dale. My  aunt  ia  in  India  ;  so  I  could  not  go 
to  her  :  and  all  the  rest  are  dead ;  that  is  why 
I  have  stayed  here." 

"It  is  very  sad  to  think  you  should  be  so 
lonely,"  said  the  clergyman, "  and  it  is  a  very 
trying  position  for  one  so  young.  Still  there 
are  families  in  Rome  that  would  have  received 
you ;  and  I  think,  my  dear  Miss  Meredith, — 
you  must  not  suppose  me  harsh ;  it  is  only 
your  good  I  am  thinking  of, — I  think  you 


175 

should  yourself  have  communicated  with  your 
father. ' ' 

"  I  wrote  to  Aunt  Mary,"  said  Alice.  "  I 
told  her  everything.  I  thought  she  would 
be  sure  to  advise  me  for  the  best.  But  papa 
would  not  answer  the  letter  I  wrote  him  after 
we  left  home,  and  he  refuses  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  me  in  Mr.  Lauderdale's  letter.  I 
do  not  understand  what  I  can  do  more." 

"  But  you  have  not  waited  to  be  advised," 
said  the  English  priest,  whose  wife  had  taken 
the  poor  little  culprit's  hand,  and  was  whis- 
pering to  her,  "  Compose  yourself,  my  dear," 

and  "We  are  your  friends,"  and  "  Mr. 

only  means  it  for  your  good,"  with  other 
such  scraps  of  consolation.  Alice  scarcely 
needed  the  first  exhortation,  having,  in  a 
large  degree,  that  steady  power  of  self-con- 
trol which  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  endow- 
ments in  the  world.  "  You  have  not  waited 
for  your  aunt's  advice,"  continued  the  cler- 
gyman. "  Indeed,  I  confess  it  is  very  hard 
to  blame  you ;  but  still  it  is  a  very  serious 
step  to  take,  and  one  that  a  young  creature 
like  you  should  not  venture  upon  without  the 
advice  of  her  friends.  Mr.  Campbell  also  is 
very  young,  and  you  cannot  have  known  each 
other  very  long." 

"  All  the  winter,"  said  Alice,  with  a  faint 
color,  for  affairs  were  too  serious  for  ordinary 
blushing  ;  at  least  all  the  spring,  ever  since 
we  left  England.  And  it  has  not  been  com- 
mon knowing,"  she  added,  with  a  deepening 
flush.  "  He  and  Mr.  Lauderdale  were  like 
brothers  to  Arthur, — they  nursed  him  night 
and  day  ;  they  nursed  him  better  than  I  did," 
said  the  poor  sister,  bursting  forth  into  natu- 
ral tears.  "  The  people  we  have  known  aU 
our  lives  were  never  so  good  to  us.  He  said 
at  the  very  last  that  they  were  to  take  care 
of  me;  and  they  have  taken  care  of  me," 
said  Alice,  among  her  sobs,  raised  for  a  mo- 
ment beyond  herself  by  her  sense  of  the  chiv- 
alrous guardianship  which  had  surrounded 
her,  "  as  if  I  had  been  a  queen." 

"  My  dear  child,  lean  upon  me,"  said  the 
lady  sitting  by  ;  "  don't  be  afraid  of  us ;  don't 
mind  crying,  it  will  be  a  relief  to  you.     Mr. 

only  means  it  for  your  good  ;  he  does  not 

intend  to  vex  you,  dear." 

"  Certainly  not,  certainly  not,"  said  the 
clergyman,  taking  a  little  walk  to  the  win- 
dow, as  men  do  in  perplexity ;  and  then  he 
came  back  and  drew  his  seat  closer,  as  Alice 
regained  the  mastery  over  herself.     "My 


176 

dear  young  ladj',  have  confidence  in  me.  Am 
I  to  understand  that  it  is  from  gratitude  you 
have  made  up  your  mind  toaccept  Mr.  Camp- 
bell? Don't  hesitate.  I  beg  of  you  to  let 
me  know  the  truth." 

The  downcast  face  of  Alice  grevr  crimson 
suddenly  to  the  hair  ;  and  then  she  lifted  her 
eyes,  not  to  the  man  who  was  questioning 
her,  but  to  the  woman  who  sat  beside  her. 
Those  eyes  were  full  of  indignant  complaint 
and  appeal.  "  Can  you,  a  woman,  stand  by 
and  see  the  heart  of  another  woman  searched 
for  its  secret  ?  "  That  was  the  utterance  of 
Alice's  look ;  and  she  made  no  further  an- 
swer, but  turned  her  head  partly  away,  with 
an  offended  pride  which  sat  strangely  and  yet 
not  unbecomingly  upon  her.  The  change 
was  so  marked  that  the  reverend  questioner 
got  up  from  his  chair  again  almost  as  con- 
fused as  Alice,  and  his  wife,  instinctively  re- 
plying to  the  appeal  made  to  her,  took  the 
matter  into  her  own  hands. 

"  If  you  will  wait  for  me  below,  George, 
I  will  join  you  by  and  by,"  said  this  good 
woman.  "  Men  must  not  spy  into  women's 
secrets."  And  "  I  have  daughters  of  my 
own,"  she  added  softly  in  Alice's  ear.  Let 
UB  thank  Heaven  that,  though  the  number  of 
those  be  few  who  are  able  or  disposed  to  do 
great  things  for  their  fellows,  the  number  is 
many  who  are  ready  to  respond  to  the  calls 
for  sympathy  at  the  moment,  and  own  the 
universal  kindred.  It  was  not  an  everlasting 
friendship  that  these  two  English  women, 
left  alone  in  the  bare  Italian  chamber,  formed 
for  each  other.  The  one  who  was  a  mother 
did  not  receive  the  orphan  permanently  into 
her  breast,  neither  did  the  girl  find  a  parent 
in  her  new  friend.  Yet  for  the  moment  na- 
ture found  relief  for  itself ;  they  were  mother 
and  child,  though  strangers  to  each  other. 
The  elder  woman  heard  with  tears  and  sym- 
pathy and  comprehension  the  other's  inter- 
rupted tale,  and  gave  her  the  kiss  which  in 
its  way  was  more  precious  than  a  lover's. 
"  You  have  done  nothing  wrong,  my  poor 
child,"  the  pitying  woman  said,  affording  an 
absolution  more  valuable  than  any  priest's  to 
the  girl's  female  soul ;  and  as  she  spoke,  there 
passed  momentarily  through  the  mind  of  tlic 
visitor  a  rapid,  troubled  enumeration  of  the 
rooms  in  her  "  apartment,"  which  involved 
the  possibility  of  carrying  this  friendless 
creature  home  with  her.  But  that  idea  was 
found  impracticable  almost  as  soon  as  con- 


A    SON    OF   THE    SOIL. 


ceived.  "  I  wish  I  could  take  you  home  with 
me,  my  dear,"  the  good  woman  said,  with  a 
sigh  ;  "  but  our  rooms  are  so  small ;  but  I 

will  talk  it  all  over  with  Mr. ,  and  see 

what  can  be  done  ;  and  I  should  like  to  know 
more  of  Mr.  Campbell  after  all  you  tell  me; 
he  must  be  a  very  superior  young  man.  You 
may  be  sure  we  shall  be  your  friends,  both 
your  friends,  whatever  happens.  I  should 
just  like  to  say  a  word  to  the  woman  of  the 
house,  and  tell  her  to  take  good  care  of  you, 
my  dear,  before  I  go." 

'<  Sora  Antonia  is  very  kind,"  said  Alice. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  am  sure  of  it  ;•  still  she 
will  be  all  the  more  attentive  when  she  sees 
you  have  friends  to  take  care  of  you,"  said 
the  experienced  woman,  which  was  all  the 
more  kind  on  her  part  as  her  Italian  was 
very  limited,  and  a  personal  encounter  of  this 
description  was  one  which  she  would  have 
shrunk  from  in  ordinary  circumstances.  But 
when  she  joined  her  husband,  it  was  with  a 
glow  of  warmth  and  kindness  about  her 
heart,  and  a  consciousness  of  having  com- 
forted the  friendless.  "If  it  ever  could  be 
right  to  do  such  a  thing,  I  almost  think  it 
would  be  in  such  a  case  as  this,"  she  said, 
with  a  woman's  natural  leaning  to  the  ro- 
mantic side ;  but  the  clergyman  only  shook 
his  head.  "We  must  wait,  at  all  events, 
for  an  answer  from  Mr.  Meredith,"  he  said  ; 
and  the  fortnight  which  ensued  was  not  a 
cheerful  one  for  Alice.  ^ 

CHAPTER  XXXIS. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  clergyman 
was  right  in  suggesting  that  Colin  should 
leave  Frascati,  and  that  the  strange  little 
household  which  had  kept  together  since  Ar- 
thur's death,  under  the  supervision  of  Sora 
Antonia,  was  in  its  innocence  in  utter  contra- 
diction of  all  decorum  and  the  usages  of  soci- 
ety. It  was  true  besides  that  Alice  had  be- 
gun to  be  uneasy  upon  this  very  point,  and 
to  feel  herself  in  a  false  position  ;  neverthe- 
less, when  Lauderdale  returned  alone  with  a 
note  from  Colin,  and  informed  her  that  they 
had  found  rooms  in  Rome,  and  were  to  leave 
her  with  Sora  Antonia  until  the  arrange- 
ments were  made  for  the  marriage,  it  is  in- 
conceivable how  blank  and  flat  the  evening 
felt  to  Alice  without  her  two. knights.  As 
she  sat  over  her  needlework,  her  sorrow  came 
more  frequently  home  to  her  than  it  had  ever 
done  before, — her  sorrow,  her  fricndlessnese, 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


and  the  vague  dread  that  this  great  happi- 
ness, which  had  come  in  tears,  and  which 
even  now  could  scarcely  be  separated  from 
the  grief  which  accompanied  it,  might  again 
fly  away  from  her  like  a  passing  angel.  Sora 
Antonia  was  indifferent  company  under  these 
circumstances  ;  she  was  very  kind,  but  it  was 
not  in  nature  that  an  elderly  peasant  woman 
could  watch  the  changing  expressions  of  a 
girl's  face,  and  forestall  her  tears,  and  be- 
guile her  weariness  like  the  two  chivalrous 
men  who  had  devoted  themselves  to  her  j 
amusement  and  occupation.  Now  that  this  i 
rare  morsel  of  time,  during  which  she  had 
been  tended  "  like  a  queen,"  was  over,  it 
seemed  impossible  to  Alice  that  it  could  ever 
be  again.  She  who  was  not  clever,  who  was 
nothing  but  Arthur's  sister,  how  could  she 
ever  expect  again  to  be  watched  over  and 
served  like  an  enchanted  princess  ?  Though, 
indeed,  if  she  were  Colin 's  wife —  !  but  since 
Colin's  departure  and  the  visit  of  the  cler- 
gyman, that  possibility  seemed  to  grow  dim- 
mer and  dimmer, — she  could  not  tell  why. 
She  1:)elieved  in  it  when  her  lover  came  to 
see  her,  which  was  often  enough  ;  but  when 
he  was  absent,  doubt  returned,  and  the  bright 
prospect  glided  away,  growing  more  and  more 
dim  and  distant.  She  had  never  indulged  in 
imagination,  to  speak  of,  before,  and  the  few 
dreams  that  had  possessed  her  heart  hai  been 
dreams  of  Arthur'srecovery, — fantastic,  hope- 
less visions  of  those  wondrous  doctors  and 
impossible  medicines  sometimes  to  be  met 
with  in  lx)oks.  But  now,  when  her  own  po- 
sition began  to  occupy  her,  and  she  found 
herself  standing  between  hopes  and  fears, 
with  such  a  sweet  world  of  tenderness  and 
consolation  on  one  side,  and  so  unlovely  a| 
prospect  on  the  other,  the  dormant  fancy  i 
woke  up,  and  made  wild  work  with  Alice,  i 
Even  in  the  face  of  her  stepmother's  refusal  \ 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  her,  the  spectre  i 
of  Mrs.  Meredith  coming  to  take  her  home 
was  the  nightmare  of  the  poor  girl's  exist-  | 
ence.  This  was  what  she  made  by  the  cler- 
gyman's attention  to  the  proprieties  of  the 
situation ;  but  there  was  at  least  the  com- 
fort of  thinking  that  in  respect  to  decorum 
all  was  now  perfectly  right. 

As  for  Colin,  he,  it  must  be  confessed,  bore 
the  separation  better  ;  for  he  was  not  at  all 
afraid  of  Mrs.  Meredith,  and  he  had  a  great 
many  things  to  see  and  do,  and  when  he  paid 
his  Itetrothed  a  visit,  it  was  sweet  to  see  the 

12 


177 

flush  of  unmistakable  joy  in  her  face,  and  to 
feel  that  so  fair  a  creature  sat  thinking  of 
him  in  the  silence,  referring  everything  to 
him,  ready  to  crown  him  with  all  the  hopes 
and  blossoms  of  her  youth.  And  then,  but 
for  her  sake,  Colin,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  ia 
no  such  hurry  to  be  married  as  his  clerica\ 
censor  supposed.  The  weeks  that  might  have 
to  elapse  before  that  event  could  be  concluded 
were  not  nearly  so  irksome  to  him  as  they 
ought  to  have  been  ;  and,  even  though  he  be- 
gan to  get  irritated  at  the  ambiguous  respon- 
ses of  the  clergyman,  he  was  not  impatient 
of  the  delay  itself,  but  found  the  days  very 
interesting,  and,  on  the  whole,  enjoyed  him- 
self; which,  to  be  sure,  may  give  some  peo- 
ple an  unfavorable  impression  of  Colin's  heart, 
and  want  of  sympathy  with  the  emotions  of 
her  he  looked  upon  as  his  bride.  At  the 
same  time,  it  is  but  just  to  say  that  he  was 
not  aware  of  these  emotions, — for  Alice  said 
nothing  about  her  fears  ;  and  his  love  for  her, 
which  was  genuine  enough  in  its  way,  was 
not  of  the  nature  of  that  love  which  divines 
evei-ything,  and  reads  the  eye  and  the  heart 
with  infallible  perception.  Such  love  as  he 
had  to  give  her  was  enough  for  Alice,  who 
had  known  no  better  ;  but  Colin  himself  was 
sensible  by  turns  of  the  absence  of  the  higher 
element  in  it, — a  sense  which  sometimes  made 
him  vexed  with  himself,  and  sometimes  with 
the  world  and  his  fate,  in  all  of  which  a  vague 
want,  a  something  vanished,  struck  him  dimly 
but  painfully  whenever  he  permitted  himself 
to  think.  But  this  impression,  which  came 
only  now  and  then,  and  which  at  all  times 
was  vague  and  unexpressed  in  words,  was 
the  only  thing  which  disturbed  Colin's  tran- 
quillity at  the  present  moment.  He  did  not 
suffer,  like  Alice,  from  fears  that  his  dawning 
happiness  was  too  great,  and  could  never 
come  true  ;  for,  though  he  had  fully  accepted 
his  position,  and  even  with  the  facility  of 
youth  had  found  pleasure  in  it,  and  found 
himself  growing  fonder  every  day  of  the  sweet 
and  tranquil  creature  to  whom  he  became  day 
by  day  more  completely  all  in  all,  this  kind 
of  calm,  domestic  love  was  unimpassioned , 
and  not  subject  to  the  hopes  and  fears,  the 
despairs  and  exultations,  of  more  spontaneous 
and  enthusiastic  devotion.  So,  to  tell  tie 
truth,  he  endured  the  separation  with  phi- 
losophy, and  roamed  about  all  day  long  with 
many  a  thought  in  his  mind,  through  that 
town  which  is  of  all  towns  in  the  world  most 


178  ,  A    SON    OF   THE    SOIL. 

full  of  memories,  most  exciting,  and  most  worships  a  bad  picture.  It  is  tlic  something 
sorrowful.  Colin,  being  Scotch,  was  not  represented  by  it  never  to  be  fully  expressed, 
classical  to  speak  of,  and  the  Cassars  had  but  and  ot  which,  indeed,  a  bad  picture  is  almost 
a  limited  interest  for  him  ;  but  if  the  tutelary  more  touching  than  a  good  one  " — 
deities  were  worn  out  and  faded,  the  shrine  "  Keep  quiet,  callant,  and  let  other  folk 
to  which  pilgrims  had  come  for  so  many  ages  have  a  chance  to  speak,"  said  Lauderdale; 
was  musical  with  all  the  echoes  of  history,  "  I'm  saying  there's  an  awfu'  deal  of  reason- 
and  affecting  beyond  description  1)y  many  an  ablencss  in  Nature  if  you  take  her  in  the  right 
individual  tone  of  human  interest.  And  in  way.  I'm  far  from  being  above  that  feeling 
Papal  Rome  the  young  priest  had  an  interest  mysel'.  No  that  I  have  ony  acquaintance 
altogether  different  from  that  of  a  polemical  with  St.  Cosmo  and  St.  Damian  and  thereat ; 
Protestant  or  a  reverential  High  Churchman,  but  I  wouldna  say  if  there  was  ony  rational 
Colin  was  a  man  of  his  age,  tolerant  and  in-  way  of  getting  at  the  car  of  one  of  them  that's 
dulgent  to  other  people's  opinions,  and  apt  gone — even  if  it  was  Arthur,  poor  callant — 
to  follow  out  his  own  special  study  without  that  I  wouldna  be  awfu'  tempted  to  bid  him 
pausing  to  consider  whether  the  people  among  mind  upon  me  when  he  was  near  the  Presence 
whom  he  pursued  it  were  without  spot  or  Cha'amer.  I'm  no  saying  he  had  much  wis- 
blemish  in  matters  of  doctrine.  The  two  dom  to  speak  of,  or  was  more  enliglitened 
friends  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  the  than  myself ;  and  there's  no  distinct  evidence 
churches  ;  not  at  the  high  mass,  or  sweet-  that  at  this  moment  he's  nearer  God  than  I 
voiced  vespers,  where  irreverent  crowds  as-  am  ;  but  I  tell  you,  callant,  Nature's  strong, 
eembled,  as  in  a  concert  room,  to  hear  Musta-  and  if  I  kent  ony  way  of  communication, 
phasing,  but  in  out-of-the-way  chapels,  where  there's  nae  philosophy  in  the  world  would 
there  were  no  signs  of fcsta;  in  the  Pantheon,  keep  me  from  asking,  if  he  was  nigh  the  pal- 
in  churches  where  there  were  no  great  pic-  ace  gates  and  could  see  Ilim  that  sits  upon 
tures  nor  celebrated  images,  but  where  the  the  throne,  that  he  should  mind  upon  me." 
common  people  went  and  came  unconscious  "  You  may  be  sure  he  docs  it  without  ask- 
of  any  spectators;  and  many  and  strange  were  ing,"  said  Colin, — and  then,  after  a  mo- 
tbe  discussions  held  by  the  two  Scotchmen  ment's  pause,  "  Your  illustration  comes  too 
over  the  devotions  they  witnessed,— devotions  close  for  criticism;  but  I  know  what  you 
ignorant  enough,  no  doubt,  but  real,  and  full  meai#  I  understand  the  feeling  too  ;  but 
of  personal  meaning.  It  was  Rome  without  then  the  saints  as  they  flourish  in  Rome 
her  glorious  apparel,  without  her  grandeur  have  nothing  to  do  with  Scotland,"  said  the 
and  melodies, — Rome  in  very  poor  vestments,  young  man.  "  It  would  be  something  to  get 
not  always  clean,  singing  out  of  tune,  and  re-  tlie  peojDle  to  have  a  little  respect  for  the 
garding  with  eyes  of  intensest  supplication  saints  ;  but  as  to  saying  their  prayers  to 
such  poor  dauljs  of  saints  and  weak-eyed  Ma-  them,  there  is  little  danger  of  that." 
donnas  as  would  have  found  no  place  in  the  '  "The  callant's  crazy  about  Scotland," 
meanest  exhibition  anywhere  in  the  world,  said  Lauderdale ;  "a  man  that  heard  you 
Strangely  enough,  this  was  the  aspect  in  which  and  kent  no  better  might  think  ye  were  the 
she  had  most  interest  for  the  two  friends.        :  king  of  Scotland  in  disguise,  with  a  scheme 

"  It  would  be  awfu'  curious  to  hear  the  of  church  reform  in  your  hand.  If  you're 
real  thoughts  these  honest  folk  have  in  their  ever  a  minister,  you'll  be  in  hot  water  before 
minds,"  said  Lauderdale.  "I'm  no  much  of  you're  well  placed.  But,  Colin,  it's  an  awfu' 
the  idolatry  way  of  thinking  mysel'.  It  may  descent  from  all  your  grand  thoughts.  Y"ou"ll 
come  a  wee  that  way  in  respect  to  Mary,  have  to  fight  with  the  jiresbytery  about  or- 
The  rest  of  them  are  little  more  than  fi'iends  gans  and  suchlike  rubbisli, — and  when  you're 
at  court  so  far  as  I  can  sec,  and  it's  no  an  un-  to  stand,  and  when  you're  to  sit ;  that's 
natural  feeling.  If  you  take  the  view  that  a'  what  ambitious  callants  come  to  in  our  kirk, 
natural  feelings  are  like  to  be  wrong  to  start  You  were  like  enough  for  such  a  fate  at  any 
with,  that  settles  the  question  ;  but  if  on  the  :  time,  but  you're  certain  of  it  now  with  your 
other  hand  " —  English  wife." 

"  I  don't  believe  in  idolatry  under  any  cir-  "  Well,"  said  Colin,  "  it  is  no  worse  than 
cumstances,"   said  Colin,   hotly;   "  nobody  '  the  fight  about  candles  and  surplices  in  Eng* 


A    SON    OF   THE    SOIL. 


land ;  better,  indeed,  for  it  means  Bome- 
thing  ;  and  if  I  fight  on  that  point,  at  least, 
I'll  fight  at  the  same  time  for  better  things." 

"  It's  aye  best  no  to  fight  at  all,"  said  the 
philosopher,  "  though  that's  no  a  doctrine 
palatalile  to  human  nature  so  far  as  I  have 
ever  seen.  But  it's  aye  awfu'  easy  talking  ; 
you're  no  ready  for  your  profession  yet ;  and 
how  you  are  ever  to  be  ready,  and  you  a 
married  man  ' ' — 

"  Stuff!  "  said  Colin  ;  "  most  men  are 
married  ;  but  I  don't  see  that  that  fact  hin- 
ders the  business  of  the  world.  I  don't  mean 
to  spend  all  my  time  with  my  wife." 

"No,"  said  Lauderdale  with  a  momentary 
touch  of  deeper  seriousness,  and  he  paused 
and  cast  a  side  glance  at  his  companion,  as  if 
longing  to  say  something  ;  but  it  happened 
at  that  moment,  either  by  chance  or  inten- 
tion, that  Colin  turned  the  full  glow  of  his 
brown  eyes  upon  his  friend's  face,  looking  at 
him  with  that  bright  but  blank  smile  which 
he  had  seen  before,  and  which  imposed  si- 
lence more  absolutely  than  any  prohibition. 
"No,"  said  Lauderdale,  slowly  changing  his 
tone  ;  "  I'll  no  say  it  was  that  I  was  think- 
ing of.  The  generality  of  callants  studying 
for  the  kirk  in  our  country  are  no  in  your 
position.  I'm  no  clear  in  my  own  mind  how 
it's  to  come  to  pass, — for  a  young  man  that's 
the  head  of  a  family  has  a  different  class  of 
subjects  to  occupy  his  mind  ;  and  as  for  the 
Balliol  scholarship  " — said  the  philosopher, 
regretfully  ;  "  but  that's  no  what  I'm  mean- 
ing. You'll  have  to  provide  for  your  own 
house,  callant,  before  you  think  of  the  kirk." 

"  Yes,  I  have  thought  of  all  that,"  said 
Colin.  "  I  think  Alice  will  get  on  with  my 
mother.  She  must  stay  there,  you  know, 
and  I  will  go  down  as  often  as  I  can  during 
the  winter.  What  do  you  mean  by  making 
no  answer  ?  Do  you  think  she  will  not  like 
Ramore?  My  mother  is  fit  company  for  a 
queen,"  said  the  young  man  with  momen- 
tary irritation ;  for,  indeed,  he  was  a  little 
doubtful  in  his  own  mind  how  this  plan 
would  work. 

"  I've  little  acquaintance  with  queens," 
said  Lauderdale ;  "  but  I'm  thinking  history 
would  tell  different  tales  if  the  half  of  them 
were  fit  to  be  let  within  the  door  where  the 
mistress  was.  That's  no  the  question.  It's 
clear  to  me  that  your  wife  will  rather  have 
you  than  your  mother,  which  is  according  to 
nature,  though  you  and  me  may  be  of  a  dif- 


179 

ferent  opinion.  If  you  listen  to  me,  Colin, 
you'll  think  a'  that  over  again.  It's  an 
awfu'  serious  question.  I'm  no  saying  a 
word  against'  the  kirk  ;  whatever  fools  may 
say,  it's  a  grand  profession  ;  there's  nae  pro- 
fession so  grand  that  I  ken  of;  but  a  man 
shouldna  enter  with  burdens  on  his  back  and 
chains  on  his  limbs.  You'll  have  to  make 
your  choice  between  love  and  it,  Colin;  and 
since  in  the  first  place  you've  made  choice 
of  love  " — 

"  Stuff!  "  said  Colin,  but  it  was  not  said 
with  his  usual  lightness  of  tone,  and  he 
turned  upon  his  friend  with  a  subdued  esas- 
peration  which  meant  more  than  it-  ex- 
pressed. "  Why  do  you  speak  to  me  of  love 
and — nonsense  ? ' '  cried  Colin .  ' '  What  choice 
is  there  ?  ' '  and  then  he  recollected  himself, 
and  grew  red  and  angry.  "  My  love  has 
Providence  itself  for  a  second,"  he  said. 
"  If  it  were  mere  fancy,  you  might  speak ; 
but  as  for  giving  up  my  profession,  nothing 
shall  induce  me  to  do  that.  Alice  is  not  like 
a  fanciful  fool  to  hamper  and  constrain  me. 
She  will  stay  with  my  mother.  Two  years 
more  will  complete  my  studies,  and  then  " — 
here  Colin  paused  of  himself,  and  did  not 
well  know  what  to  say  ;  for,  indeed,  it  was 
then  chiefly  that  the  uttermost  uncertainty 
commenced. 

"  And  then  " — said  Lauderdale,  medita- 
tively. "  It's  an  awfu'  serious  question. 
It's  ill  to  say  what  may  happen  then.  What 
I'm  saying  is  no  pleasure  to  me.  I've  put 
mair  hope  on  your  head  than  any  man's  jus- 
tified in  putting  on  another  man.  Y'e  were 
the  ransom  of  my  soul,  callant,"  said  the 
philosopher,  with  momentary  emotion.  "  It 
was  you  that  was  to  be, — nothing  but  talk 
will  ever  come  out  of  a  man  like  me ;  and 
it's  an  awfu'  consolation  to  contemplate  a 
soul  that  means  to  live.  But  there's  more 
ways  of  living — ay,  and  of  serving  God  and 
Scotland — than  in  the  kirk.  No  man  in  the 
world  can  fight  altogether  in  the  face  of  cir- 
cumstance. I  would  think  it  a'  well  over 
again,  if  I  were  you." 

"  No  more,"  said  Colin,  with  all  the  more 
impatience  that  he  felt  the  truth  of  what  his 
friend  was  saying.  "  No  more ;  I  am  not  to 
be  moved  on  that  subject.  No,  no,  it  is  too 
much;  I  cannot  give  up  my  profession,"  he 
said,  half  under  his  breath,  to  himself;  and, 
perhaps,  at  the  bottom  of  his  soul,  a  momen- 
tary grudge,  a  momentary  pang,  arose  with- 


180 

in  him  at  the  thought  of  the  woman  who 
could  accept  euch  a  sacrifice  without  even 
knowing  it,  or  feeling  how  great  it  was. 
Such,  alas,  was  not  the  woman  of  Colin's 
dreams  ;  yet  so  inconsistent  was  the  young 
man  in  his  youth  that,  ten  minutes  after, 
when  the  two  walked  past  the  Colosseum  on 
their  way  to  the  railway,  being  bound  to 
Frascati  (for  this  was  before  the  days  when 
the  vulgar  highway  of  commerce  had  entered 
within  the  walls  of  Rome) ,  a  certain  waver- 
ing smile  on  his  lip,  a  certain  color  on  his 
cheeks,  betrayed  as  plainly  that  he  was  bound 
on  a  lover's  errand  as  if  it  had  been  said  in 
words.  Lauderdale,  whose  youthful  days 
were  past,  and  who  was  at  all  times  more  a 
man  of  one  idea,  more  absolute  and  fixed  in 
his  affections,  than  Colin,  could  understand 
him  less  on  this  point  than  on  any  other  ; 
but  he  saw  how  it  was,  though  he  did  not 
attempt  to  explain  how  it  could  be,  and  the 
two  friends  grew  silent,  one  of  them  delivered 
by  sheer  force  of  youthfulness  and  natural 
vigor  from  the  anxieties  that  clouded  tlie 
other.  As  they  approached  the  gate,  a  car- 
riage, which  had  been  stopped  there  by  the 
watchful  ministers  of  the  Dogana,  made  a 
sudden  start,  and  dashed  past  them.  It  was 
gone  in  a  moment,  flashing  on  in  the  sun- 
shine at  the  utmost  speed  which  a  reckless 
Italian  coachman  could  get  out  of  horses 
which  did  not  belong  to  him  ;  but  in  that 
instant,  both  the  bystandei-s  started,  and 
came  to  a  sudden  pause  in  their  walk.  "  Did 
you  hear  anything?  "  said  Colin.  "  What 
was  it?  "  and  the  young  man  turned  round, 
and  made  a  few  rapid  strides  after  the  car- 
riage ;  but  then  Colin  stopped  short,  with 
an  uneasy  laugh  at  himself.  "  Absurd,"  he 
said ;  "all  English  voices  sound  something 
alike,"  which  was  an  unlover-like  remark. 
And  then  he  turned  to  his  friend,  who  looked 
almost  as  much  excited  as  himself. 

"I  suppose  that's  it,''  said  Lauderdale; 
but  he  was  less  easily  satisfied  than  Colin. 
"  I  cannot  see  how  it  could  be  her,"  he  said, 
slowly;  "but —  Yon's  an  awfu'  speed  if 
there's  no  reason  for  it.  I'm  terrible  tempt- 
ed to  jump  into  that  machine  there,  and  fol- 
low," the  philosopher  added,  with  a  stride 
towards  a  crazy  little  one-horse  carriage 
which  was  waiting  empty  at  tlic  gate. 

"It  is  I  who  should  do  that,"  said  Colin  ; 
and  then  he  laughed,  shaking  off  his  fears. 
*'  It   is  altogether  impossible  and  absurd," 


A   SON    OF   THE    SOIL. 


the  young  man  said.  "  Nonsense  !  there  are 
scores  of  English  girls  who  have  voices  6ufi5- 
ciently  like  hers  to  startle  one.  I  have 
thought  it  was  she  half  a  dozen  times  since  I 
came  to  Rome.  Come  along,  or  we  shall  lose 
the  train.  Nothing  could  possibly  bring  her 
into  Rome  without  our  knowledge ;  and  noth- 
ing, I  hope,"  said  the  young  lover,  who  was 
in  little  doubt  on  that  branch  of  the  subject, 
"  could  make  her  pass  by  me." 

"  Except  her  father,"  said  Lauderdale,  to 
which  Colin  only  replied  by  an  impatient  ex- 
clamation as  they  went  on  to  the  train.  But 
though  it  was  only  a  momentary  sound,  the 
tone  of  a  voice,  that  had  startled  them,  it 
was  with  extreme  impatience  and  an  uneasi- 
ness which  they  tried  to  hide  from  each  other 
that  they  made  their  way  to  Frascati.  To 
be  suit,  Colin  amused  himself  for  a  little  by 
the  thought  of  a  pretty  speech  with  which 
he  could  flatter  and  flutter  his  gentle  fiancee, 
telling  her  her  voice  was  in  the  air,  and  he 
heard  it  everywhere  ;  and  then  he  burst  forth 
into  "Airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's 
names,"  to  the  consternation  of  Lauderdale. 
"  But  then  she  did  not  syllable  any  name," 
he  added,  laughing,  "  which  is  proof  posi- 
tive that  it  can  have  been  nothing."  His 
laugh  and  voice  were,  however,  full  of  dis- 
turbance, and  betrayed  to  Lauderdale  that 
the  suggestion  he  had  made  began  to  work. 
The  two  mounted  the  hill  to  Frascati  from 
the  station  with  a  swiftness  and  silence  nat- 
ural to  two  Scotchmen  at  such  a  moment, 
leaving  everything  in  the  shape  of  carriage 
behind  them.  When  they  reached  the  Pa- 
lazzo Savvelli,  Colin  cleared  the  long  stair- 
case at  a  bound  for  anything  his  companion 
saw  who  followed  him  more  slowly,  more 
and  more  certainly  prescient  of  something 
having  happened.  When  Lauderdale  reached 
the  salone,  he  found  nobody  there  save  Sora 
Antonia,  with  her  apron  at  her  eyes,  and 
Colin,  sunk  into  Arthur's  chair,  reading  a 
letter  which  he  held  in  both  his  hands.  Co- 
lin's face  was  crimson,  his  hands  trembling 
with  excitement  and  passion.  The  next  mo- 
ment he  had  started  to  his  feet  and  was  ready 
for  action.  "  Read  it,  Lauderdale,"  he  said, 
with  a  choking  voice ;  "  you  may  read  it ; 
it  has  all  come  true ;  and  in  the  mean  time 
I'm  off  to  get  a  vettura,"  said  the  young 
man,  rushing  to  the  door.  Before  his  friend 
could  say  a  word,  Colin  was  gone,  tearing 
frantically  down  the  stairs  which   he  had 


A    SON    OF   THE    SOIL. 


come  up  like  lightning ;  and  in  this  bewil- 
dering moment,  after  the  thunderbolt  had 
fallen,  with  Sora  Antonia's  voice  ringing  in 
his  ear  as  loudly  and  ecarce  more  intelligibly 
than  the  rain  which  accompanies  a  storm, 
Lauderdale  picked  up  poor  Alice's  letter, 
which  was  blotted  with  tears. 

"  Papa  has  come  to  fetch  me,"  wrote  Al- 
ice. "Oh,  Colin,  my  heart  is  broken  !  He 
says  we  are  to  go  instantly,  without  a  mo- 
ment's delay  ;  and  he  would  not  let  me  write 
even  this  if  he  knew.  Oh,  Colin,  after  all 
your  goodness  and  kindness  and  love  that  I 
was  not  worthy  of! — oh,  why  did  anybody 
ever  interfere?  I  do  not  know  what  I  am 
writing,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  never  be 
able  to  read  it.  Never  so  long  as  I  live  shall 
I  think  one  thought  of  anybody  but  you  ;  but 
papa  would  not  let  me  speak  to  you, — would 
not  wait  to  see  you,  though  I  told  him  you 
were  coming.  Oh,  Colin,  good-by,  and  do 
not  think  it  is  I — and  tell  Mr.  Lauderdale 
I  shall  never  forget  his  kindness.  I  would 
rather,  far  rather,  die  than  go  away.  Al- 
ways, always,  whatever  any  one  may  say, 
your  own  poor  Alice,  who  is  not  half  nor 
quarter  good  enough  for  you." 

This  was  the  hurried  utterance  of  her  disap- 
pointment and  despair  which  Alice  had  left 
behind  her  ere  she  was  forced  away ;  but 
Sora  Antonia  held  another  document  of  a 
more  formal  desci-iption,  which  she  delivered 
to  Lauderdale  with  a  long  preface,  of  which 
he  did  not  understand  a  word.  He  opened 
it  carelessly;  for,  the  fact  being  apparent, 
Lauderdale,  who  had  no  hand  in  the  busi- 
ness on  his  own  account,  was  sufficiently  in- 
different to  any  compliments  which  the  fa- 
ther of  Alice  might  have  to  pay  to  himself. 

"  ^Ir.  Meredith  regrets  to  have  the  senti- 
ments of  gratitude  with  which  he  was  pre- 
pared to  meet  Mr.  Lauderdale,  on  account  of 
services  rendered  to  his  son,  turned  into  con- 
tempt and  indignation  by  the  base  attempt 
on  the  part  of  Mr.  Lauderdale's  companion 
to  ensnare  the  affections  of  his  daughter. 
Having  no  doubt  whatever  that  when  re- 
moved from  the  personal  coercion  in  which 
she  has  been  held,  Miss  Meredith  will  see 
the  l3ase  character  of  the  connection  which  it 
has  been  attempted  to  force  upon  her,  Mr. 
Meredith  will,  in  consideration  of  the  ser- 
vices above  mentioned,  take  no  legal  steps 
for  the  exposure  of  the  conspiracy  which  he 
has  fortunately  found  out  in  time  to  defeat 
its  nefarious  object,  but  begs  that  it  may  be 
fully  understood  that  his  leniency  is  only  to 
be  purchased  by  an  utter  abstinence  from  any 


181 

attempt  to  disturb  Miss  Meredith,  or  bring 
forward  the  ridiculous  pretensions  of  wliich 
she  is  too  young  to  see  the  utterly  interested 
and  mercenary  character." 

A  man  does  not  generally  preserve  his  com- 
posure unabated  after  reading  such  an  epistle, 
and  Lauderdale  was  no  more  capable  than 
other  men  of  dissembling  his  indignation. 
His  face  flushed  with  a  dark  glow,  more  burn- 
ing and  violent  than  anything  that  had  dis- 
turbed his  blood  for  years  ;  and  it  was  as 
•well  for  the  character  of  the  grave  and  sober- 
minded  Scotsman  that  nobody  but  Sora  An- 
tenia  was  present  to  listen  to  the  first  excla- 
mation that  rose  to  his  lips.  Sora  Antonia 
herself  was  in  a  state  of  natural  excitement, 
pouring  forth  her  account  of  all  that  hap- 
pened with  tears  and  maledictions,  which 
were  only  stopped  by  Colin 's  shout  from  the 
bottom  of  the  staircase  for  his  friend.  The  im- 
patient youth  came  rushing  up-stairs  when 
he  found  no  immediate  response,  and  swept 
the  older  man  with  him  like  a  whirlwind. 
"Another  time,  another  time  !  "  he  cried  to 
Sora  Antonia.  ' '  I  must  go  first  and  bring  the 
signorina  back ;  "  and  Colin  picked  up  both 
the  letters,  and  rushed  down,  driving  Lauder- 
dale before  him  to  the  carriage  which  he  hadi 
already  hastened  to  the  door  ;  and  they  were 
driving  off  again,  whirling  down  hill  towards 
the  Campagna,  before  either  had  recovered 
the  first  shock  of  this  unlooked-for  change  in 
all  their  plans.  Then  it  was  Lauderdale  who 
was  the  first  to  speak. 

' '  You  are  going  to  bring  the  signorina 
back,"  he  said,  with  a  long  breath.  "  It's 
a  fool's  errand,  but  I'll  no  say  but  I'll  go 
with  you.  Colin,  it's  happened  as  was  only 
natural.  The  father  has  got  better,  as  I 
said  he  would,  I'm  no  blaming  the  fa- 
ther " — 

"Not  after  this?''''  said  Colin,  who  had 
just  read  in  a  blaze  of  indignation  Mr.  Mere- 
dith's letter.    ■ 

"  Hout,"  said  the  philosopher,  "  certainly 
not  after  that ;  "  and  he  took  it  out  of  Colin's 
hand  and  folded  it  up  and  tore  it  into  a  dozen 
pieces.  "  The  man  kens  nothing  of  me. 
Gallant,"  said  Lauderdale,  warming  sudden- 
ly, "  there  is  but  one  person  to  be  consid- 
ered in  this  business.  You  and  me  can  fend 
for  ourselves.  Pain  and  sorrow  cannot  but 
come  on  her  as  things  are,  but  nothing  is  to 
be  done  or  said  that  can  aggravate  them,  or 
give  her  more  to  bear.     You're  no  heeding 


182 

what  I  say.  Where  arc  you  going  now,  if  a 
man  might  ask?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  claim  my  bride,"  said  Co- 
lin, shortly.  "  Do  you  imagine  I  am  likely 
to  abandon  her  now?  " 

"  Colin,"  said  hisfriend,  anxiously,"  you'll 
no  get  her.  I'm  no  forbidding  you  to  try, 
but  I  warn  you  not  to  hope.  She's  in  the 
hands  of  her  natural  guardian,  and  at  this 
moment  there's  nac  power  on  earth  that 
would  induce  him  to  give  her  to  you.  He's 
to  be  blamed  for  ill  speaking,  but  I'm  not 
clear  that  he's  to  be  blamed  for  this." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  talk,"  said  Colin, 
roughly,  and  opened  Alice's  little  letter 
again,  and  read  it  and  put  it  to  his  lips. 
If  he  had  never  been  impassioned  before,  he 
was  so  now  ;  and  so  they  went  on,  dashing 
across  the  long,  level  Campagna  roads,  where 
there  was  nothing  to  break  the  sunshine  but 
here  and  there  a  nameless  pile  of  ruins. 

The  sunshine  began  to  foil  low  and  level 
on  the  plain  before  they  reached  the  gates. 
"  One  thing  at  least  is  certain  :  he  cannot 
take  her  out  of  Rome  to-night,"  said  Colin. 
It  was  almost  the  only  word  that  was  spoken 
between  them  until  they  began  their  douljt- 
ful  progress  from  one  hotel  to  another, 
through  the  noisy,  resounding  streets. 

CHAPTER   XL. 

"  Now  we  have  found  them,  let  me  face 
them  by  myself,"  said  Colin,  to  whom  the 
interval  of  silence  and  consideration  had  been 
of  use.  They  were  both  waiting  in  the  hall 
of  one  of  the  hotels  facing  towards  the  Piazza 
del  Popolo,  to  which  they  had  at  last  tracked 
Mr.  Meredith,  and  Lauderdale  acquiesced 
silently  in  Colin's  decision.  The  young  man 
had  already  sent  up  his  card,  with  a  request 
that  he  might  see  not  Alice,  but  her  father. 
After  a  considerable  time,  the  servant  who 
had  taken  it  returned  with  an  abrupt  mes- 
sage that  Mr.  Meredith  was  engaged.  When 
he  had  sent  up  a  second  tiiAe,  explaining 
that  his  business  was  urgent,  but  with  the 
same  effect,  Colin  accompanied  his  third 
message  with  a  note,  and  went  with  his  mes- 
senger to  the  door  of  the  room  in  whicl  his 
adversary  was.  There  could  1)e  no  doubt  of 
the  commotion  produced  within  by  this  third 
application.  Colin  could  hear  some  one  pa- 
cing aibout  the  room  with  disturbed  steps,  and 
the  sound  of  a  controversy  going  on,  which, 


A    SON   OF    THE    SOIL. 


though  he  was  too  far  off  to  hear  anything 
that  was  said,  still  reached  him  vaguely  in 
sound  at  least.  AYhen  he  had  waited  for 
about  five  minutes,  the  clergyman,  whom  he 
had  not  in  the  least  thought  of  or  expected 
to  see,  made  his  appearance  cautiously  at  the 
door.  He  did  not  attempt  to  admit  the 
young  man,  but  came  up  to  him  on  tiptoe, 
and  took  him  persuasively,  almost  caressing- 
ly, by  the  arm.  "  My  good  friend,  my  excel- 
lent young  friend,"  said  the  puzzled  priest, 
with  a  mixture  of  compunction  and  expostu- 
lation which  in  other  circumstances  would 
have  amused  Colin,  "  let  us  have  a  little  con- 
versation. I  am  sure  you  are  much  too  gen- 
erous and  considerate  to  add  to  the  distress 
of — of" —  But  here  the  good  man  recollect- 
ed just  in  time  that  he  had  pledged  himself 
not  to  speak  of  Alice,  and  made  a  sudden 
pause.  "  There,  in  that  room,"  he  went  on, 
changing  his  tone,  and  assuming  a  little  so- 
lemnity, "  is  a  sorrowful  father,  mourning 
for  his  only  son,  and  driven  almost  out  of  his 
senses  by  illness  and  weakness,  and  a  sense 
of  the  shameful  way  in  which  his  daughter 
has  been  neglected, — not  his  fault,  my  dear 
Mr.  Campbell.  You  cannot  have  the  heart 
to  increase  his  sufferings  by  claims,  however 
well  founded,  which  have  been  formed  at  a 
time ' ' — 

"  Stop,"  said  Colin,  "  it  is  not  my  fault 
if  he  has  not  done  his  duty  to  his  children  ; 
I  have  no  right  to  bear  the  penalty.  He  has 
cast  the  vilest  imputations  upon  me  " — 

"Hush,  hush,  I  beg  of  you,"  said  the 
clergyman,  "  my  excellent  young  friend  " — 

Colin  laughed  in  spite  of  himself.  "  If  I 
am  your  excellent  friend,"  he  said,  "  why 
do  you  not  procure  me  admission  to  tell  my 
own  story  ?  Why  should  the  sight  of  me 
distress  your  sorrowing  father?  I  am  not  an 
ogre,  nor  an  enemy,  but  his  son's  friend ; 
and  up  to  this  day,  I  need  not  remind  you," 
said  the  young  man,  with  a  rising  color,  "  the 
only  protector,  along  with  my  friend  Lauder- 
dale, whom  his  daughter  has  had.  I  do  not 
say  that  he  may  not  have  natural  objections 
to  give  her  to  me,  a  poor  man,"  said  Colin, 
with  natural  pride  ;  "  but,  at  all  events,  he 
has  no  reason  to  hurry  her  away  by  stealth, 
as  if  I  had  not  a  right  to  be  told  why  our  en- 
gagement is  interrupted  so  summarily.  I 
will  do  nothing  to  distress  Alice,"  the  young 
man  went  on ,  involuntarily  lingering  by  the 


A   SON    OF 

door,  which  was  not  entirely  closed  ;  "  but  I 
protest  against  being  treated  like  a  villain  or 
an  adventurer ' ' — 

"  Hush,  hush,  hush  !  "  cried  the  unlucky 
peacemaker,  putting  out  his  hand  to  close 
the  unfastened  door  ;  but  before  he  could  do 
so,  Mr.  Meredith  appeared  on  the  threshold, 
flushed  and  furious.  "  What  are  you  else, 
sir,  I  should  like  to  know,"  cried  the  angry 
British  father,  "  to  drag  an  unprotected  girl 
into  such  an  entanglement  without  even  a 
pretence  of  consulting  her  friends,  to  take 
advantage  of  a  death-bed  for  your  detestable 
fortune-hunting  schemes  ?  Don't  answer 
me,  sir!  Have  you  a  penny  of  your  own? 
have  you  anything  to  live  on?  That's  the 
question.  If  it  was  not  for  other  considera- 
tions, I'd  indict  you.  I'd  charge  you  with 
conspiracy  ;  and  even  now,  if  you  come  here 
to  disturb  my  poor  girl, —  But,  I  promise 
you,  you  shall  see  her  no  more,"  the  angry 
man  continued.  "  Go,  sir,  and  let  me  hear 
no  more  of  you.     She  has  a  protector  now." 

Colin  stood  a  moment  without  speaking 
after  Mr.  Meredith  had  disappeared,  closing 
the  door  violently  after  him. 

"  I  have  not  come  to  distress  Alice,"  said 
the  young  man.  He  had  to  repeat  it  to  him- 
self to  keep  down  the  hot  blood  that  was 
burning  in  his  veins  ;  and  as  for  the  unfor- 
tunate clcrgjrman,  who  was  the  immediate 
cause  of  all  this,  he  kept  his  position  by  the 
door  in  a  state  of  mind  far  from  enviable, 
sorry  for  the  young  man  and  ashamed  of  the 
old  one,  and  making  inarticulate  efforts  to 
speak  and  mediate  between  them.  But  the 
conference  did  not  last  very  long  outside  the 
closed  door.  Though  it  did  not  fortunately 
occur  to  Colin  that  it  was  the  interference  of 
his  present  companion  which  had  originated 
this  scene,  the  young  man  did  not  feel  the 
insult  the  less  from  the  deprecatory  half- 
sympathy  offered  to  him.  "  It  is  a  mistake, 
— it  is  a  mistake,"  said  the  clergyman, 
"  Mr.  ]\Ieredith  will  discover  his  error.  I 
said  I  thought  you  were  imprudent,  and  in- 
deed wrong  ;  but  I  have  never  suspected  you 
of  interested  motives, — never  since  my  first 
interview  with  the  young  lady  ; — but  think 
of  her  sufferings,  my  dear  young  friend  ; 
think  of  her,"  said  the  mediator,  who  was 
driven  to  his  wits'  end.  As  for  Colin,  he 
calmed  himself  down  a  little  by  means  of 
pacing  about  the  corridor, — the  common  re 
source  of  men  in  trouble. 


THE    SOIL.  183 

"  Poor  Alice,"  he  said,  "  if  I  did  not 
think  of  her,  do  you  think  I  should  have 
stood  quietly  to  be  insulted  ?  But  look  here, 
— the  abuse  of  such  a  man  can  do  no  harm 
to  me,  but  he  may  kill  her.  If  I  could  see 
her,  it  might  do  some  good.  Impossible? 
Do  you  suppose  I  mean  to  see  her  clandes- 
tinely, or  to  run  away  with  her,  perhaps?  I 
mean,"  said  Colin,  with  youthful  sternness, 
"  that  if  I  were  permitted  to  see  her,  1  might 
be  able  to  reconcile  her  a  little  to  what  is 
inevitable.  Of  course  he  is  her  father.  I 
wish  her  father  were  a  chimney-sweep  in- 
stead," said  Colin  ;  "  but  it  is  she  I  have  to 
think  of.  Will  you  try  to  get  me  permis- 
sion to  see  her? — only  for  ten  minutes,  if 
you  like, — in  your  presence,  if  that  is  neces- 
sary ;  but  I  must  say  one  word  to  her  before 
she  is  carried  away." 

"  Yes,  yes,  it's  very  natural, — very  nat- 
ural," said  the  peacemaker  ;  "  I  will  do  all 
I  can  for  you.  Be  here  at  eleven  o'clock  to- 
morrow morning  ;  the  poor  dear  young  lady 
must  have  rest  after  her  agitation.  Don't 
be  afraid  ;  I  am  not  a  man  to  deceive  you  ; 
they  do  not  leave  till  five  o'clock  for  Civita 
Vecchia.  You  shall  see  her  ;  I  think  I  can 
promise  you.  I  will  take  the  responsibility 
on  myself." 

Thus  ended  Colin's  attempt  to  bring  back 
the  signorina,  as  he  said.  In  the  morning, 
he  had  reached  the  hotel  long  before  the  hour 
mentioned,  in  case  of  an  earlier  departure ; 
but  everything  was  quiet  there,  and  the  young 
man  hovered  about,  looking  up  at  the  win- 
dows, and  wondering  which  might  be  the  one 
which  enclosed  his  little  love,  with  sentiments 
more  entirely  loverlike  than  he  had  ever  ex- 
perienced before.  But  when  the  hour  of  his 
appointment  came,  and  he  hurried  into  the 
hotel,  he  was  met  by  the  indignant  clergyman, 
who  felt  his  own  honor  compromised,  and  was 
wroth  beyond  measure.  Mr.  Meredith  had 
left  Rome  at  dawn  of  day,  certainly  not  for 
Civita  Veccbia,  leaving  no  message  for  any 
one.  He  had  pretended,  after  hot  resistance, 
to  yield  to  the  kind-hearted  priest's  petition, 
that  the  lovers  might  say  farewell  to  each 
other,  and  this  was  the  way  he  had  taken 
of  balking  them.  It  was  now  the  author  of 
the  original  mischief  who  felt  himself  insulted  • 
and  scorned,  and  his  resentment  and  indigna- 
tion were  louder  than  Colin's,  whose  mind 
at  first  lost  itself  in  schemes  of  following,  and 
vain  attempts  to  ascertain  the  route  the  party 


184 

had  taken.  Lauderdale,  coming  anxious  but 
steady  to  the  scene  of  action  half  an  hour  af- 
terward, found  his  friend  absorbed  in  this  in- 
quiry, and  balancing  all  the  chances  between 
the  road  by  Perugia  and  the  road  by  Orvieto, 
with  the  full  intention  of  going  oif  in  pur- 
suit. It  waa  then  his  careful  guardian's  time 
to  interfere.  lie  led  the  youth  away,  and 
pointed  out  to  him  the  utter  vanity  of  such 
an  undertaking.  Not  distance  or  uncertainty 
of  road,  but  her  father's  will,  which  was 
likely  to  be  made  all  the  more  rigorous  by 
a  pursuit,  parted  Alice  from  her  young  pro- 
tector and  bridegroom  ;  and  if  he  followed 
her  to  the  end  of  the  world,  this  obstacle 
would  still  remain  as  unremovable  as  ever. 
Though  he  was  hot-headed  and  young,  and 
moved  by  excitement  and  indignation  and 
pity  to  a  height  of  passion  which  his  love  for 
Alice  by  itself  would  never  have  produced, 
Colin  still  could  not  help  being  reasonable, 
and  he  saw  the  truth  of  what  was  said  to  him. 
At  the  same  time,  it  was  not  natural  that  the 
shock  which  was  so  great  and  sudden  should 
be  got  over  in  a  moment.  Colin  felt  himself 
insulted  and  outraged,  in  the  first  place  ;  and 
in  another  point  of  view  he  was  equally  mor- 
tified,— mortified  even  by  the  relief  which  he 
knew  would  be  felt  by  all  his  friends  when 
the  sudden  end  of  his  unwelcome  project  was 
made  known  to  them.  The  Ramore  house- 
hold had  given  a  kind  of  passive  acquiescence 
to  what  seemed  inevitable;  but  Colin  was 
aware  they  would  all  be  very  glad  at  home 
when  the  failure  was  known, — and  it  was  a 
failure,  howsoever  the  tale  might  be  told. 
Thus  the  original  disappointment  was  aggra- 
vated by  stings  of  apprehended  ridicule  and 
jocular  sympathy  ;  for  to  no  living  soul,  not 
even  to  his  mother,  would  Colin  have  con- 
fessed how  great  a  share  in  his  original  deci- 
sion Alice's  helpless  and  friendless  position 
had,  nor  the  sense  of  loss  and  bondage  with 
which  he  had  often  in  his  secret  heart  I'c- 
garded  the  premature  and  imprudent  marriage 
which  he  had  lived  to  hear  stigmatized  as  the 
scheme  of  a  fortune-hunter.  It  was  thus  that 
the  very  generosity  of  his  intentions  gave  an 
additional  sting  at  once  to  the  insult  and  the 
sympathy.  After  a  day  or  two,  his  thoughts 
of  Alice  as  the  first  person  to  be  considered, 
and  deep  sense  of  the  terril)lc  calamity  it  was 
to  her,  yielded  a  little  to  those  thoughts  of 
himself  and  all  the  humiliating  accompani- 
ments of  this  change  in  his  intentions.     Dur- 


A    SON   OF   THE    SOIL. 


ing  this  period  his  temper  became,  even  by 
Lauderdale,  unbearable ;  and  he  threw  aside 
everything  he  was  doing,  and  took  to  silence 
and  solitary  rambles,  in  utter  disgust  with 
the  short-sightedness  and  injustice  of  the 
world.  But  after  that  unhappy  interval,  it 
lias  to  be  confessed  that  the  skies  suddenly 
cleared  for  Colin.  The  first  symptom  of  re- 
vival that  happened  to  him  came  to  pass  on  a 
starry  lovely  May  night,  when  he  plunged 
into  the  darkness  of  the  lonely  fjuarter  about 
the  Colosseum  alone,  and  in  a  state  of  mind 
to  which  an  encounter  with  the  robbers  sup- 
posed to  haunt  these  silent  places  would 
have  been  highly  beneficial.  But  it  chanced 
that  Colin  raised  his  moody  eyes  to  the  sk}--, 
suddenly  and  without  any  premeditation,  and 
saw  the  moon  struggling  up  through  a  maze 
of  soft  white  clouds,  parting  them  witli  her 
hands  as  they  threw  themselves  into  baffling, 
airy  masses  always  in  her  way  ;  and  suddenly, 
without  a  moment  of  preface,  a  face — the  face 
— the  image  of  the  veiled  woman,  wlio  was 
not  Alice,  and  to  whom  he  had  Indden  fare- 
well, gleamed  out  once  more  through  the 
clouds,  and  looked  Colin  in  the  eyes,  thrilling 
him  through  and  through  with  a  guilty  as- 
tonishment. The  moment  after  was  the 
hardest  of  all  Colin's  struggle  ;  and  he  rushed 
home  after  it  tingling  all  over  with  self-con- 
tempt and  burning  indignation,  and  plunged 
into  a  torrent  of  talk  when  he  found  his  friend, 
by  way  of  forgetting  himself,  which  struck 
Lauderdale  Avith  the  utmost  surprise.  But 
next  day  Colin  felt  himself  somehow  comforted 
without  knowing  how  ;  and  then  he  took  to 
thinking  of  his  life  and  work,  which  now, 
even  for  the  sake  of  Alice,  if  nothing  else,  he 
must  pursue  with  determined  energy ;  and 
then  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  every  moment  was 
lost  that  kept  him  away  from  home.  AVas  it 
for  Alice  ?  Was  it  that  he  might  oflPer  her 
again  the  perfected  mind  and  settled  existence 
to  which  his  labors  were  to  l«ad  him  ?  He 
said  so  to  himself  as  he  made  his  plans  ;  but 
yet  unawares  a  vision  of  deeper  eyes  came 
gleaming  ujion  him  out  of  the  clouds.  And 
it  was  with  the  half-conscious  thrill  of  another 
existence,  a  feeling  as  of  new  and  sweeter  air 
in  the  sails,  and  a  widening  ocean  under  the 
keel,  that  Colin  rose  up  after  all  these  vary- 
ing changes  of  sentiment  were  over,  and  set 
his  face  to  the  north  once  more. 

"  It's  awfu'  strange  to  think  it's  the  last 
time,"  said  Lauderdale,  as  they  stood  together 


A   SON   OF    THE    SOIL. 


on  the  Fineian  Hill,  and  -watched  the  glowing 
colors  of  the  Roman  sunset.  "  It's  little 
likely  that  you  and  me  will  ever  see  St.  Pe- 
ter yonder  start  up  black  into  the  sun  like 
hat  another  time  in  our  lives.  It's  grander 
han  a'  their  illuminations,  though  it's  more 
like  another  kind  of  spirit  than  an  angel. 
And  this  is  Rome  !  I  dinna  seem  ever  to  have 
realized  the  thought  before.  It's  awfu'  liv- 
ing and  lifelike,  callant,  but  it's  the  graves 
we'll  mind  it  by.  I'm  no  meaning  kings  and 
Csesars.  I'm  meaning  them  that  come  and 
never  return.  Testaccio's  hidden  out  of  sight, 
and  the  cypress  trees,"  said  the  philosopher  ; 
"  but  there's  mony  an  eye  that  will  never 
lose  sight  of  them  even  at  the  other  end  of 
the  world.  I  might  have  been  going  my  ways 
with  an  awfu'  different  heart,  if  it  hadna  been 
-for  the  mercy  of  God." 

"Then  you  thought  I  would  die?  "said 
Colin,  to  whom,  in  the  stir  of  his  young  life, 
the  words  were  solemn  and  strange  to  say ; 
"  and  God  is  merciful ;  yet  Meredith  is  lying 
yonder,  though  not  me." 

"Ay,"  said  Lauderdale,  and  then  there 


185 

was  a  long  pause.  "  I'm  no  offering  ony  ex- 
planation," said  the  philosopher.  "  Ifs  a 
question  between  a  man  and  his  Maker, — 
spirit  to  spirit.  It's  an  awfu'  mystery  to  us 
but  it  maun  be  made  clear  and  satisfying  to 
them  that  go  away.  For  me,  I'll  praise  God,' ' 
he  said,  abruptly,  with  a  hareh  ring  in  his 
voice ;  and  Colin  knew  for  the  first  time 
thoroughly  that  his  faithful  guardian  had 
thought  nothing  better  than  to  bring  him 
here  to  die.  They  went  into  the  church  on 
the  hill,  where  the  nuns  were  singing  their 
sweet  vespers  as  they  descended  for  the  last 
time  through  the  dusky  avenues,  listening  as 
they  went  to  the  bells  ringing  the  Ave  Maria 
over  all  the  crowded  town  ;  and  there  came 
upon  Colin  and  his  friend  in  different  degrees 
that  compunction  of  happiness  which  is  the 
soul  of  thanksgiving.  Others, — how  many ! 
— have  stood  speechless  in  dumb  submission 
on  that  same  spot  and  found  no  thanks  to 
say  ;  and  it  was  thus  that  Colin,  after  all  the 
events  that  made  these  four  months  so  im- 
portant in  his  life,  entered  upon  a  new  period 
of  his  history,  and  took  his  farewell  of  Rome, 


186 


A   SON   OF   THE   SOIL. 


PART  XIV.  —  CHAPTER  XL. 

"  It's  hard  to  ken  what  to  say,"  said  the 
Mistress,  going  to  the  window  for  the  hun- 
dredtli  time,  and  looking  out  wistfully  upon 
the  sky  which  shone  dazzling  over  the  Holy 
Loch  with  the  excessive  pathetic  brightness 
of  exceptional  sunshine.  "  I  canna  make 
out  for  my  part  if  he's  broken-hearted  or 
no,  and  a  word  wrong  just  at  a  moment  like 
this  would  be  hard  ou  the  callant.  It's  a 
wonderful  mercy  it's  such  a  bonnie  day. 
That's  aye  a  blessing  both  to  the  body  and 
the  mind." 

"  Well,  it's  you  that  Colin  takes  after," 
said  the  farmer  of  Ramore,  with  an  under- 
tone of  dissatisfaction ;  "  so  there's  no  say- 
ing but  what  the  weather  may  count  for 
something.  I've  lost  understanding  for  my 
part  of  a  lad  that  gangs  abroad  for  his 
health,  and  gets  himself  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ked. In  my  days,  when  marriage  came 
into  a  man's  head,  he  went  through  with  it, 
and  there  was  an  end  of  the  subject.  For 
my  part,  I  dinna  i:>retend  to  understand 
your  newfangled  ways." 

"  Eh,  Colin,  dinna  be  so  unfeeling," 
said  the  Mistress,  roused  to  remonstrance. 
"  You  were  like  to  gang  out  of  your  mind 
about  the  marriage  when  you  thought  it 
was  to  be ;  and  now  you're  ready  to  sneer 
at  the  poor  laddie,  as  if  he  could  help  it. 
It's  hard  when  his  ain  friends  turn  against 
him  after  the  ingratitude  he's  met  wi',  and 
the  disappointment  he's  had  to  bear." 

'•  You  may  trust  a  woman  for  uphaudin' 
her  sou  in  §uch  like  nonsense,"  said  big 
Colin.  "  The  only  man  o'  sense  among 
them  that  I  can  see  was  yon  Mr.  Meredith 
that  took  the  lassie  away.  What  the  deevil 
had  Colin  to  do  with  a  wife,  and  him  no  a 
penny  in  his  pouch  ?  But  in  the  meantime 
yonder's  the  steamboat,  and  I'm  gaun  down 
to  meet  them.  If  I  were  you  I  would  stop 
still  here.  You're  no  that  strong,"  said  the 
farmer,  looking  upon  his  wife  with  a  certain 
secret  tenderness.  "I  would  stop  stUl  at 
hame  if  I  were  you.  It's  aye  the  best  wel- 
come for  a  callant  to  see  his  mother  at  her 
ain  door." 

With  which  big  Colin  of  Ramore  strode 
downwards  to  the  beach,  where  his  sons 
were  launching  their  own  boat  to  meet  the 
little  steamer  by  which  Colin  was  coming 
home.  His  wife  looked  after  him  with 
mingled  feelings  as  he  went  down  the  brae. 
He  had  been  a  little  hard  upon  Colin  for 
these  six  months  past,  and  had  directed 
many  a  covert  sarcftsm  at  the  young  man 
who  had  gone  so  far  out  of  the  ordinary 
course  as  to  seek  health  in  Italy.      The 


farmer  did  not  believe  in  any  son  of  his 
needing  such  an  expedient ;  and,  in  propor- 
tion as  it  seemed  unnecessary  to  his  own 
vigorous  strength,  and  ignorance  of  weak- 
ness, he  took  opportunity  for  jeers  and  jests 
which  were  to  the  mother's  keen  ears  much 
less  good-natured  than  they  seemed  to  be. 
And  then  he  had  been  very  angry  on  the 
receipt  of  Colin's  letter  announcing  his  in- 
tended marriage,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
]\Irs.  Campbell  had  prevented  her  husband 
from  sending  in  return  such  an  answer  as 
might  have  banished  Colin  for  ever  from 
his  father's  house.  Now  all  these  clouds 
had  blown  past,  and  no  harm  had  come  of 
them,  and  he  was  coming  home  as  of  old. 
His  brothers  were  launching  the  boat  on 
the  beach,  and  his  father  had  gone  down  to 
meet  the  stranger.  The  IMistrcss  stood  at 
her  door,  restraining  her  eagerness  and 
anxiety  as  best  she  could,  and  obeying  her 
husband's  suggestion,  as  women  do  so  often, 
by  way  of  propitiating  him,  and  bespeaking 
tenderness  and  forbearance  for  her  boy. 
For  indeed  the  old  times  had  passed 
away,  with  all  their  natural  family  glad- 
ness, and  union  clouded  by  no  sense  of  dif- 
ference. Now  it  was  a  man  of  independent 
thoughts,  with  projects  and  pursuits  of  his 
own  difi'ering  from  theirs,  and  with  a  mind 
no  doubt  altered  and  matured  by  those  ad- 
vantages of  travel  which  the  Mistress  re- 
garaea  m  ner  ignorance  with  a  certain  awe, 
who  was  coming  back  to  Ramore.  Colin 
had  made  so  many  changes,  while  so  few  had 
occurred  at  home;  and  even  a  bystander, 
less  anxious  than  his  mother,  might  have  had 
reason  to  inquire  and  wonder  how  the  ma- 
tured and  travelled  son  would  look  upon  his 
unprogressive  home. 

It  Avas  now  the  end  of  September,  though 
Colin  had  left  Rome  in  May ;  but  then  his 
Snell  Scholarship  was  intended  to  give  him 
the  advantage  of  travel,  and  specially  that 
peculiar  advantage  of  attendance  at  a  Ger- 
man University  which  is  so  much  prized  in 
Scotland.  He  had  accordingly  passed  the 
intervening  months  in  a  little  German  town, 
getting  up  the  language  and  listening  to  lec- 
tures made  doubly  misty  by  imperfect  under- 
standing of  the  tongue.  The  process  left 
Colin's  theological  ideas  very  much  where 
it  found  them — which  is  to  say,  in  a  state 
of  general  vagueness  and  uncertainty ;  but 
then  he  had  always  the  advantage  of  being 
able  to  say  that  he  had  studied  at  Dickof- 
ptenberg.  Lauderdale  had  left  his  friend 
after  spending,  not  without  satisfaction,  his 
hundred  pounds,  and  was  happily  re-estab- 
lished in  the  "  honorable  situation  "  which 
he  had  quitted  on  Colin's  account;  or,  if 


A   SON    OF   THE   SOIL. 


not  in  that  precise  post,  at  least  in  a  cognate 
appointment,  the  nature  of  which  came  to 
Colin's  ears  after\»ards ;  and  the  young  man 
was  now  returning  home  alone,  to  spend  a 
little  time  with  his'family  before  he  returned 
to  his  studies.  The  Mistress  watched  him 
land  from  the  boat,  with  her  heart  beating 
so  loudly  in  her  ears  that  no  other  sound 
was  audible ;  and  Colin  did  not  lose  much 
time  in  ascending  the  brae  where  she  stood 
awaiting  him.  "  But  you  should  not  have 
left  your  fother,"  Mrs  Campbell  said,  even 
in  the  height  of  her  happiness.  "  He's  awfu' 
proud  to  see  you  home,  Colin,  my  man ! " 
Big  Colin,  however,  was  no  way  displeased 
in  his  own  person  by  his  son's  desertion.  He 
came  up  leisurely  after  him,  not  without  a 
thrill  of  conscious  satisfaction.  The  farmer 
was  sufficiently  disposed  to  scoff  aloud  at  his 
son's  improved  looks,  at  his  beard,  and  his 
dress,  and  all  the  little  particulars  which 
made  a  visible  difference  between  the  pres- 
ent Colin  and  the  awkward  country  lad  of 
two  years  ago ;  but  in  his  heart  he  made  in- 
voluntary comparisons,  and  privately  con- 
cluded that  the  minister's  son  was  far  from 
being  Colin's  equal,  and  that  even  the  heir 
and  pride  of  the  Duke  would  have  little  to 
boast  of  in  presence  of  the  farmer's  son  of 
Ramore.  This  —  though  big  Colin  would 
not  for  any  earthly  inducement  have  owned 
the  sentiment  —  made  him  regard  his  son's 
actions  and  intentions  unawares  with  eyes 
more  lenient  and  gracious.  No  contempti- 
ble weakness  of  health  or  delicacy  of  appear- 
ance appeared  in  the  sunburnt  countenance, 
so  unexpectedly  garnished  by  a  light-brown, 
crisp,  abundant  beard  —  a  beard  of  which, 
to  tell  the  truth,  Colin  himself  was  rather 
proud,  all  the  more  as  it  had  by  rare  fortune 
escaped  that  intensification  of  color  which 
is  common  to  men  of  his  complexion.  The 
golden  glitter  which  lighted  up  the  great 
waves  of  brown  hair  over  his  forehead  had 
not  deepened  into  red  on  his  chin,  as  it  had 
done  in  Archie's  young  but  vigorous  whisk- 
ers. His  complexion,  though  not  so  ruddy 
as  his  brother's,  had  the  tone  of  perfect  health 
and  vigor,  untouched  by  any  shade  of  fa- 
tigue or  weakness.  He  was  not  going  to  be 
the  "  delicate  "  member  of  the  famil}^  as  the 
farmer  had  foreboded,  with  a  strange  mix- 
ture of  contempt  in  his  feelings ;  for,  natur- 
ally, to  be  delicate  included  a  certain  weak- 
ness of  mind  as  well  as  of  body  to  the  health- 
ful dwellers  in  Ramore. 

"You'll  find  but  little  to  amuse  you  here 
after  a'  your  travels,"  the  farmer  said.  We're 
aye  busy  about  the  beasts,  Archie  and  me. 
I'll  no  say  it's  an  elevating  study,  like  yours ; 
but  it's  awfu'  necessary  in  our  occupation. 


187 


For  my  part,  I'm  no  above  a  kind  o'  pride 
in  my  cattle ;  and  there's  your  mother,  she's 
set  her  shoulder  to  the  wheel  and  won  a 
prize." 

"Ay,  Colin,"  said  the  Mistress,  hastening 
to  take  up  her  part  in  the  conversation, "  it's 
aye  grand  to  be  doing  something.*  And  it's 
no'  me  but  Gowans  that's  won  the  prize. 
She  was  aye  a  weel-conditioned  creature, 
that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  have  onything  to 
do  with ;  but  there's  plenty  of  time  to  speak 
about  the  beasts.  You're  sure  you're  weel 
and  strong  yourself,  Colin,  my  man?  for 
that's  the  first  thing  now  we've  got  you 
hame." 

"There  doesna  look  much  amiss  with  him," 
said  the  farmer,  with  an  inarticulate  growl. 
"  Your  mother's  awfu'  keen  for  somebody  to 
pet  and  play  wi' ;  but  there's  a  time  for  a' 
thing;  and  a  callant,  even,  though  he's 
brought  up  for  a  minister,  maun  find  out 
when  he's  a  man." 

"  I  should  hope  there  was  no  doubt  of  that," 
said  Colin.  "  I'm  getting  on  for  two-and- 
twenty,  mother,  and  strong  enough  for  any- 
thing. Thanks  to  Harry  Franliland  for  a 
splendid  holiday ;  and  now  I  mean  to  settle 
down  to  work." 

Here  big  Colin  again  interjected  an  inar- 
ticulate exclamation.  "  I  ken  little  about 
your  kind  of  work,"  said  the  discontented 
father ;  "  but,  if  I  were  you,  when  I  wanted 
a  bit  exercise  I  would  take  a  hand  at  the 
plough,  or  some-wise-like  occupation,  instead 
of  picking  fools  out  of  canals  —  or  even  out 
of  lochs,  for  that  matter,"  he  added,  with  a 
subdued  thrill  of  pride.  "  Sir  Thomas  is  aye 
awfu'  civil  when  he  comes  here ;  and,  as  for 
that  bonnie  little  creature  that's  aye  with 
him,  she  comes  chirping  about  the  place  with 
her  fine  English,  as  if  she  belonged  to  it.  I 
never  can  make  out  what  she  and  your  moth- 
er have  such  long  cracks  about." 

"  Miss  Frankiand  ? ''  said  Colin,  with  a 
bright  look  of  interest.  The  Mistress  had 
been  so  much  startled  by  this  unexpected 
speech  of  her  husband,  that  she  turned  right 
round  upon  Colin  with  an  anxious  face,  ea- 
ger to  know  what  effect  an  intimation  so 
sudden  might  have  upon  him.  For  the  far- 
mer's wife  believed  in  true  love  and  in  first 
love  with  all  her  heart,  and  had  never  been 
able  to  divest  herself  of  the  idea  that  it  was 
partly  pique  and  disappointment  in  respect 
to  Miss  Matty  which  had  driven  her  son  into 
so  hasty  an  engagement.  "  Is  she  stiU  Miss 
Frankiand  ?  "  ^continued  the  unsuspicious 
Colin.  "I  thought  she  would  have  been 
married  by  this  time.  She  is  a  little  witch," 
the  young  man  said  with  a  conscious  snule 
—  "  but  I  owe  her  a  great  many  pleasant 


188 


hours.  She  was  always  the  life  of  "Wodens-  j 
bourne.  Were  thoy  here  this  year  ?  "  he  ! 
asked;  and  then  another  thought  struck 
him.  "Hollo!  it's  only  September,"  said 
Colin  ;  "  I  ought  to  ask,  Are  they  here  now  ?" 

"  Oil,  ay,  Colin,  they're  here  now,"  said 
the  Mistress,  "and  couldna  be  more  your 
friends  if  you  were  one  of  the  family.  I'm 
no  clear  in  my  mind  that  thae  two  will  ever 
be  married.  No.  that  I  ken  of  any  obstacle 
—  but,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  a  bright  bonny 
creature  like  that,  aye  full  of  life  "and  spirit, 
is  nae  match  for  the  like  of  him." 

"I  do  not  see  that," said  the  young  man 
who  once  was  Matty  Frankland's  worship- 
per. "  She  is  very  bright,  as  you  say ;  but 
he  is  tht;  more  honest  of  the  two.  I  used  to 
be  jealous  of  Harry  Frankland,"  said  Colin, 
laughing ;  "he  seemed  to  have  everything 
that  was  lacking  to  me  ;  but  I  have  changed 
my  mind  since  then.  One  gets  to  believe 
in  compensations,"  said  the  young  man ;  and 
he  shut  his  hand  softly  where  it  rested  on 
the  table,  as  if  he  felt  in  it  the  tools  which 
a  dozen  Harry  Franklands  could  have  made 
no  use  of.  But  this  thought  was  but  dimly 
intelligible  to  his  hearers,  to  one  of  whom,  at 
least,  the  word  "jealous"  was  limited  in  its 
meaning;  and,  viewed  in  this  light,  the  sen- 
timent just  expressed  by  Colin  was  hard  to 
understand. 

"  I'm  no  fond  of  what  folk  call  compen- 
sations," said  the  INIistress.  "A  loss  is  aye 
a  loss,  whatever  onybody  can  say.  Siller 
that's  lost  may  be  made  up  for,  but  uaeth- 
ing  more  precious.  It's  aye  an  awfu'  mar- 
vel to  me  that  chapter  atjout  Job  getting 
other  bairns  to  fill  the  place  o'  the  first.  I 
would  rather  have  the  dead  loss  and  the  va- 
cant place,"  said  the  tender  woman,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  "  than  a'  your  compensa- 
tions. One  can  never  stand  for  another  — 
it*s  awfu'  infidelity  to  think  it.  If  I  canna 
have  happiness,  I'll  be  content  with  sorrow ; 
but  you're  no  to  speak  of  compensations  to 
me." 

"  No,"  said  Colin,  laying  his  hand  caress- 
ingly on  his  mother's ;  "  but  I  was  not  speak- 
ing of  either  love  or  loss.  I  meant  only 
that  for  Harry  Frankland's  advantages  over 
me,  I  might,  perhaps,  have  a  little  balance 
on  my  side.  For  example,  I  picked  him 
out  of  the  canal,  as  my  father  says,"  the 
young  man  went  on  laughing ;  "  but  never 
mind  the  Franklands ;  I  suppose  I  shall 
have  to  see  them,  as  they  arc  here." 

"  Weel,  Colin,  you  can  please  yourself," 
said  his  father.  "  I'm  no'  a  man  to  court 
the  great,  but  an  English  baronet,  like  Sir 
Thomas,  is  aye  a  creditable  acquaintance 
for  a  callant  like  you ;   and  he's  aye  awfu' 


A   SON   OF  THE   SOIL. 


civil  as  I  was  saying ;  but  the  first  thing  to 
be  sure  of  is  what  you  mean  to  do.  You 
have  had  the  play  for  near  a  year,  and  it 
docsna  appear  to  me  that  tutorships,  and 
that  kind  of  thing,  are  the  right  training  for 
a  minister.  You'll  go  back  to  your  studies, 
and  go  through  with  them  without  more  in- 
terruptions, if  you'll  be  guided  by  me." 

But  at  this  point  Cohn  paused,  and  had  a 
good  many  explanations  to  give.  His  heart 
was  set  on  the  Balliol  scholarship,  wliich  he 
had  once  given  up  for  Matty's  sake ;  but 
now  there  was  another  chance  for  him, 
which  had  arisen  unexpectedly.  This  it 
was  which  had  hastened  his  return  home. 
As  for  his  father,  the  farmer  yielded  with 
but  little  demur  to  this  proposal.  A  clear 
Scotch  head,  even  when  it  begins  to  lose  its 
sense  of  the  ideal,  and  to  become  absorbed 
in  "  the  beasts,"  seldom  deceives  itself  as  to 
the  benefits  of  education ;  and  big  Colin  had 
an  intense  secret  confidence  in  the  power,^ 
of  his  son.  Honors  at  Oxford,  in  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  Scotch  farmer,  were  a  vision- 
ary avenue  leading  to  any  impossible  alti- 
tude. He  made  a  "little  resistance  for  ap- 
pearance' sake,  but  he  was  in  reality  more 
excited  by  the  idea  of  the  conflict —  first, 
for  the  scholarship  itself ;  then  for  all  pos- 
sible prizes  and  honors  to  the  glory  of  Scot- 
land and  Ramore  —  than  was  Colin  himseK 

"  But  after  a  year's  play  you're  no  quali- 
fied," he  said,  with  a  sense  of  speaking  iron- 
ically, which  was  very  pleasant  to  his  humor. 
"  A  competition's  an  awfu'  business ;  your 
rivals  that  have  aye  been  keeping  at  it  wiU 
be  better  qualified  than  you." 

At  whit'L  Colin  smiled,  as  his  father 
meant  him  to  smile,  and  answered,  "  I  ana 
not  afraid,"  more  modestly  a  great  deal 
than  the  farmer  in  his  heart  was  answering 
for  him ;  but  then  an  unexpected  antagonist 
arose. 

"  I  dinna  pretend  to  ken  a  great  deal 
about  Oxford,"  said  the  IMistress,  whose  brow 
was  clouded  ;  "  but  it's  an  awfu'  put-ofi"  of 
time  as  far  as  I  can  see.  I'm  no  fond  of 
spending  the  best  of  life  in  idle  learning. 
Weel,  wecl,  maybe  its  no  idle  learning  for 
them  that  can  spare  the  time ;  but  for  a  lad 
tliat's  no  out  of  the  thought  of  settling  for 
himself  and  doing  his  duty  to  his  fellow- 
creatures  —  I  was  reading  in  a  book  no  that 
long  ago,"  said  Colins  mother,  "  about  thae 
fellowships  and  things,  and  of  men  so  mis- 
guided as  to  stay  on  and  live  to  be  poor 
bachelor  bodies,  with  their  Greek  and  their 
Latin,  and  no  mortal  use  in  this  world.  Eh, 
Colin,  laddie,  if  that  was  a'  that  was  to  come 
of  you  ! "  — 

'•  You're  keen  to  see  your  son  in  a  pulpit 


A   SON   OF   THE   SOIL. 


like  the  rest  of  the  silly  women,"  said  the 
farmer ;  "  for  my  part,  I'm  no  that  bigoted 
to  the  kirk  ;  if  he  could  do  better  for  him- 
sel'  "  — ' 

But  at  this  juncture  the  Mistress  got  up 
•with  a  severe  countenance,  laying  aside  the 
stocking  she  was  knitting.  "  Eh,  Colin,  if 
you  wouldn't  get  so  worldly,"  cried  the 
anxious  mother.  "  I'm  no  one  that's  aye 
thinking  of  a  callant  bettering  himself^  If 
he's  taken  arles  in  one  service,  would  you 
have  him  desert  and  gang  over  to  another  ? 
For  me,  I  would  like  to  see  my  laddie 
faithful  to  his  first  thoughts.  I'm  no  saying 
faithful  to  his  Master,  for  a  man  may  be  that 
though  he's  no  a  minister,"  continued  the 
Mistress;  " but  I  canna  bear  to  see  broken 
threads ;  be  one  thing  or  be  another,  but 
dinna  melt  away  and  be  nothing  at  a',"  the 
indignant  woman  concluded  abruptly,  mov- 
ing away  to  set  things  in  order  in  the  room 
before  they  all  retired  for  the  night.  It  was 
the  faint,  far-off,  and  impossible  idea  of  her 
son  settling  down  into  one  of  the  Fellow- 
ships of  which  Mrs.  Campbell  had  been  read- 
ing which  moved  her  to  this  little  outburst. 
Her  authority  probably  was  some  disrespect- 
ful novel  or  magazine  article,  and  that  was 
all  the  idea  she  had  formed  in  her  ignorance 
of  the  nurseries  of  learning.  Colin,  how- 
ever, was  so  far  of  her  mind  that  he  re- 
sjDonded  at  once. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  give  up  my  profession, 
mother ;  I  only  mean  to  be  all  the  more  fit 
for  it,"  he  said.  "  I  should  never  hesitate  if 
I  had  to  choose  between  the  two." 

"  Hear  him  and  his  fine  talk,"  said  the 
farmer,  getting  up  in  his  turn  with  a  laugh. 
"  It  would  be  a  long  time  before  our  minis- 
ter, honest  man,  would  speak  of  his  profes- 
sion. Leave  him  to  himself,  Jeanie.  He 
kens  what  he's  doing ;  that's  to  say,  he  has 
an  awfu'  ambition  considering  that  he's  only 
your  son  and  mine,"  said  big  Colin  of  Ra- 
more ;  and  he  went  out  to  take  a  last  look 
at  his  beasts  with  a  thrill  of  a  secret  pride 
which  he  would  not  for  any  reward  have 
expressed  in  words.  He  was  only  a  humble 
Westland  farmer  looking  after  his  beasts, 
and  she  was  but  his  true  wife,  a  helpmeet 
no  way  above  her  natural  occupations ;  but 
there  was  no  telling  what  the  boy  might  be, 
though  he  was  only  "  your  son  and  mine." 
As  for  Colin  the  younger,  he  went  up  to  his 
room  half  an  hour  later,  after  the  family 
had  made  their  homely  thanksgiving  for  his 
return,  smiling  in  himself  at  the  unaccount- 
able contraction  of  that  little  chamber, 
which  he  had  once  shared  with  Archie  with- 
out finding  it  too  small.  Many  changes  and 
many  thoughts  had  come  and  gone  since  he 


189 


last  lay  down  under  its  shelving  roof.  Miss 
Matty  who  had  danced  away  like  a  will-o'- 
the-wisp,  leaving  no  trace  behind  her ;  and 
Alice  who  had  won  no  such  devotion,  yet 
whose  soft  shadow  lay  upon  him  still ;  and 
then  there  was  the  deathbed  of  Meredith, 
and  his  own  almost  deathbed  at  Wodens- 
bourne,  and  all  the  thoughts  that  belonged 
to  these.  Such  influences  and  imaginations 
mature  a  man  unawares.  While  he  sat  re- 
calling all  that  had  passed  since  he  left  this 
nest  of  his  childhood,  the  Misti-ess  tapped 
softly  at  his  door,  and  came  in  upon  him 
with  wistful  eyes.  She  would  have  given 
all  she  had  in  the  world  for  the  power  of 
reading  her  son's  heart  at  that  moment, 
and,  indeed,  there  was  little  in  it  which 
Colin  would  have  objected  to  reveal  to  his 
mother.  But  the  two  human  creatures 
were  constrained  to  stand  apart  from  each 
in  the  bonds  of  their  individual  nature,  —  to 
question  timidly  and  answer  vaguely,  and 
make  queries  which  were  aU  astray  from  the 
truth.  The  Mistress  came  behind  her  son 
and  laid  one  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  with 
the  other  caressed  and  smoothed  back  the 
waves  of  brown  hair  of  which  she  had  al- 
ways been  so  proud.  "  Your  hair  is  just  as 
long  as  ever,  Colin,"  said  the  admiring  mo- 
ther ;  "  but  it's  no  a'  your  mother's  now," 
she  said  with  a  soft,  little  sigh.  She  was 
standing  behind  him  that  her  eyes  might 
not  disconcert  her  boy,  meaning  to  woo  him 
into  confidence  and  the  opening  of  his 
heart. 

"  I  don't  know  who  else  cares  for  it,"  said 
Colin ;  and  then  he  too  was  glad  to  respond 
to  the  unasked  question.  "  My  poor  Alice," 
he  said ;  "  if  I  could  but  have  brought  her 
to  you,  mother  —  she  would  have  been  a 
daughter  to  you." 

Mrs.  Campbell  sighed.  "  Eh,  Colin,  I'm 
awfu'  hard-hearted,"  she  said ;  "  I  canna 
believe  in  ony  woman  ever  taking  that 
place.  I'm  awfu'  bigoted  to  my  ain ;  but 
she  would  have  been  dearly  welcome  for  my 
laddie's  sake ;  and  I'm  real  anxious  to  hear 
how  it  a'  was.  It  was  but  little  you  said  in 
your  letters,  and  a'  this  night  I've  been 
wanting  to  have  you  to  mysel' ,  and  to  hear 
all  that  there  was  to  say." 

"  I  don't  know  what  there  is  to  say,"  said 
Colin;  "I  must  have  written  all  about  it. 
Her  position,  of  course,  made  no  difference 
to  my  feelings,"  he  went  on,  rather  hotly, 
like  a  man  who  in  his  own  consciousness 
stands  somewhat  on  his  defence ;  "  but  it 
made  us  hasten  matters.  I  thought  if  I 
could  only  have  brought  her  home  to 
you  "  — 

"  It  was  aye  you  for  a  kind  thought,"  said 


190 


A   SON    OF   THE  .SOIL. 


the  Mistress ;  "  but  she  would  have  had  little 
need  of  the  auld  mother  when  she  had  the 
son;  and   Colin,  my  man,  is  it  a'   ended 

now  ?  " 

"  Heaven  knows ! "  said  Colin  with  a  little 
impatience.  "  I  have  written  to  her  through 
her  father,  and  I  have  written  to  her  by  her- 
self, and  all  that  I  have  had  from  her  is  one 
little  letter  saying  that  her  father  had  for- 
bidden all  further  intercourse  between  us, 
and  bidding  me  farewell ;  but "  — 

"  But,"  said  the  Mistres^s,  "  it's  no  of  her 
own  will ;  she's  fixitliful  in  her  heart  ?  And 
if  she's  true  to  you,  you'll  be  true  to  her  ? 
Isna  that  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Colin  ;  and  then  he 
made  a  little  pause.  "  There  never  was  any 
one  so  patient  and  so  dutiful,"  he  said. 
"  When  poor  Arthur  died,  it  was  she  who 
forgot  herself  to  think  of  us.  Perhaps  even 
this  is  not  so  hard  upon  her  as  one  thinks." 

"  Eh,  but  I  was  thinking  first  of  my  ain, 
like  a  heartless  woman  as  I  am,"  said  his 
mother.  "I've  been  thinking  it  was  hard 
on  you." 

He  did  not  turn  round  his  fece  to  her  as 
she  had  hoped  ;  but  her  keen  eyes  could  see 
the  heightened  color  which  tinged  even  his 
neck  and  his  forehead.  "  Yes,"  said  Colin  ; 
"  but  for  my  part,"  he  added,  with  a  little 
effort,  "  it  is  chiefly  Alice  I  have  been  think- 
ing of.  It  may  seem  vain  to  say  so,  but 'she 
will  have  less  to  occupy  her  thoughts  than- 1 
shall  have,  and  —  and  the  time  may  hang 
heavier.  — You  don't  like  me  to  go  to  Ox- 
ford, mother  ?  "  This  question  was  said  with 
a  little  jerk,  as  of  a  man  who  was  pleased 
to  plunge  into  a  new  subject ;  and  the  Mis- 
tress was  far  too  close  an  observer  not  to  un- 
derstand what  her  son  meant. 

"  I  like  whatever  is  good  for  you,  Colin," 
she  said  ;  "  but  it  was  aye  in  the  thought  of 
losing  time.  I'm  no  meaning  real  loss  of 
time.  I'm  meaning  I  was  thinking  of  mair 
hurry  than  there  is.  But  you're  both  awfu' 
young,  and  I  like  whatever  is  for  your  good, 
Colin,"  said  the  tender  mother.  She  kept 
folding  back  his  heavy  locks  as  she  spoke, 
altogether  disconcerted  and  at  a  loss,  poor 
soul ;  for  Colin's  calmness  did  not  seem  to 
his  mother  quite  consistent  with  his  love; 
and  a  possibility  of  a  marriage  without  that 
foundation  was  to  Mrs.  Canipbell  the  most 
hideous  of  all  suppositions.  And  then,  like 
a  true  woman  as  she  was,  she  went  back  to 
her  little  original  romance,  and  grew  more 
confused  than  ever. 

"  I'm  maybe  an  awfu'  foolish  woman,"  she 
said,  with  an  attempt  at  a  smile,  which  Colin 
was  somehow  conscious  of,  though  he  did 
not  see  it,  "  but,  even  if  I  am,  you'll  no  be 


angry  at  your  mother.  Colin,  my  man, 
maybe  it's  no  the  best  thing  for  you  that 
thae  folk  at  the  castle  should  be  here?" 

"  Which  folk  at  the  castle  ?  "  said  Colin, 
who  had  honestly  forgotten  for  the  moment. 
"  Oh,  the  Frauklands !  What  sliould  it 
matter  to  me  ?  " 

This  time  he  turned  round  upon  her  with 
eyes  of  unabashed  surprise,  which  the  Mis- 
tress found  herself  totally  unprepared  to 
meet.  It  was  now  her  turn  to  falter,  and 
stammer,  and  break  down. 

"  Eh,  Colin,  it's  so  hard  to  ken,"  said  the 
Mistress.  "  The  heart's  awfu'  deceitful. 
I'm  no  sajnng  one  thing  or  another ;  for  I 
canna  read  what  you're  thinking,  though 
you  are  my  ain  laddie ;  but  if  you  were  to 
think  it  best  no  to  enter  into  temptation"  — 

"  Meaning  Miss  Matty  ?  "  said  Colin ;  and 
he  laughed  with  such  entire  freedom  that 
his  mother  was  first  silenced  and  then  of- 
fended by  his  levity.  "No  fear  of  that, 
mother ;  and  then  she  has  Harry,  I  suppose, 
to  keep  her  right." 

"  I'm  no  so  clear  about  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Campbell,  nettled,  notwithstanding  her  satis- 
faction, by  her  son's  indiSerence ;  "  he's  away 
abroad  somewhere ;  but  I  would  not  say  but 
what  there  might  be  another,"  she  con- 
tinued, with  natural  esprit  du  corps,  which 
was  still  more  irritated  by  Colin's  calm  re- 
sponse, — 

"  Or  two  or  three  others,"  said  the  young 
man  ;  "  but,  for  all  that,  you  are  quite  right 
to  stand  up  for  her,  mother ;  only  I  am  not 
in  the  least  danger.  No,  I  must  get  to 
work,"  said  Colin  ;  "  hard  work,  -vvithout  any 
more  nonsense ;  but  I'd  like  to  show  those 
fellows  that  a  man  may  choose  to  be  a  Scotch 
minister  though  he  is  Fellow  of  an  English 
college  "  — 

The  ]\Iistress  interrupted  her  son  with  the 
nearest  approach  to  a  scream  which  her 
Scotch  self-control  would  admit  of  "  A  Fel- 
low of  an  English  college,"  she  said,  in  dis- 
may, "  and  you  troth-plighted  to  an  inno- 
cent young  woman  that  trusts  in  you,  Colin ! 
That  I  should  ever  live  to  hear  such  words 
out  of  the  mouth  of  a  son  of  mine  ! " 

And,  notwithstanding  his  explanations, 
the  Mistress  retired  to  her  own  room,  ill  at 
ease,  and  with  a  sense  of  coming  trouble. 
"  A  man  that's  engaged  to  be  married 
shouldna  be  thinking  of  such  an  awfu'  off- 
put  of  time,"  she  said  to  herself;  "  and  ah,  if 
the  poor  lassie  is  aye  trusting  to  his  coming, 
and  looking  for  him  day  by  day."  This 
thought  took  away  from  his  mother  half  the 
joy  of  Colin's  return.  Perhaps  her  cherished 
son,  too,  was  growing  "  worldly,"  like  his 
father,  who  thought  of  the  "  beasts  "  even  in 


A   SON   OF   THE   SOIL. 


191 


his  dreams.  And,  as  for  Colin  liimself,  he, 
too,  felt  the  invisible  curb  upon  his  free  ac- 
tions, and  chafed  at  it  in  the  depths  of  his 
heart  when  he  was  alone.  With  all  this 
world  of  woi-k  and  ambition  before  him,  it 
was  hard  to  feel  upon  his  proud  neck  that 
visionary  rein.  Though  Alice  had  set  him 
free  in  her  httle  letter,  it  was  still  in  her 
soft  fingers  that  this  shadowy  bond  remained. 
He  had  not  repudiated  it,  even  in  his  most 
secret  thoughts ;  but,  as  soon  as  he  began  to 
act  independently,  he  became  conscious  pf 
the  bondage,  and  in  his  heart  resented  it. 
K  he  had  brought  her  home,  as  he  had  in- 
tended, to  his  father's  house,  his  young  de- 
pendent wife,  he  probably  would  have  felt 
much  less  clearly  how  he  had  thus  forestalled 
the  future,  and  mortgaged  his  very  life. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

The  Balliol  Scholarship  was,  however,  too 
important  a  reality  to  leave  the  youn^  can- 
didate much  time  to  consider  his  position  — 
and  Colin's  history  would  be  too  long,  even 
for  the  patience  of  his  friends,  if  we  were  to 
enter  into  this  part  of  his  life  in  detail. 
Everybody  knows  he  won  the  scholarship  ; 
and,  indeed,  neither  that,  nor  his  subsequent 
career  at  Balliol,  are  matters  to  be  recorded, 
since  the  chronicle  has  been  already  made 
in  those  popular  University  records  which 
give  their  heroes  a  reputation,  no  doubt  tem- 
porary, but  while  it  lasts  of  the  highest  pos- 
sible flavor.  He  had  so  warm  a  greeting 
from  Sir  Thomas  Frankland  that  it  would 
have  been  churlish  on  Colin's  part  had  he 
declined  the  invitations  he  received  to  the 
Castle,  where,  indeed,  Miss  Matty  did  not 
want  him  just  at  that  moment.  Though  she 
was  not  the  least  in  the  world  in  love  with 
him,  it  is  certain  that  between  the  intervals 
of  her  other  amusements  in  that  genre,  the 
thought  of  Colin  had  often  occurred  to  her 
mind.  She  thought  of  him  with  a  wonder- 
ful gratitude  and  tenderness  sometimes,  as 
of  a  man  who  had  actually  loved  her  with 
the  impossible  love  —  and  sometimes  with  a 
ring  of  pleasant  laughter,  not  far  removed 
from  tears.  Anything  "  between  them  "  was 
utterly  impossible,  of  course  —  but,  perhaps, 
all  the  more  for  that.  Miss  Matty's  heart,  so 
much  as  there  was  remaining  of  it,  went 
back  to  Colin  in  its  vacant  moments,  as  to  a 
green  spot  upon  which  she  could  repose  her- 
self, and  set  down  her  burden  of  vanities  for 
the  instant.  This  very  sentiment,  however, 
made  her  little  inclined  to  have  him  at  the 
Castle,  where  there  was  at  present  a  party 
staying,  Including,  at  least,  one  man  of  quali- 
fications worthy  a  lady's  regard.     Harry  and 


his  cousin  had  quarrelled  so  often  that  their 
quarrel  at  last  was  serious,  and  the  new  man 
was  cleverer  than  Harry,  and  not  so  hard 
to  amuse ;  but  it  was  difficult  to  go  over  the 
well-known  ground  with  which  Miss  Frank- 
land  was  so  familiar  in  presence  of  one  whom 
she  had  put  through  the  process  in  a  still 
more  captivating  fashion,  and  who  was  still 
sufficiently  interested  to  note  what  she  was 
doing,  and  to  betray  that  he  noted  it.  Colin, 
himself,  was  not  so  conscious  of  observing 
his  old  love  in  her  new  love-making  as  she 
was  conscious  of  his  observation ;  and,  though 
it  was  only  a  glance  now  and  then,  a  turn  of 
the  head,  or  raising  of  the  eyes,  it  was 
enough  to  make  her  awkward  by  moments, 
an  evidence  of  feeling  for  which  ISIiss  Matty 
could  not  forgive  herself.  Colin  consequent- 
ly was  not  thrown  Into  temptation  in  the 
way  his  mother  dreaded.  The  temptation 
he  was  thrown  into  was  one  of  a  much  more 
subtle  character.  He  threw  himself  into  his 
work,  and  the  preparations  for  his  work, 
with  all  the  energy  of  his  character ;  he  felt 
himself  free  to  follow  out  the  highest  visions 
of  life  that  had  formed  themselves  among  his 
youthful  dreams.  He  thought  of  the  new 
study  on  which  he  was  about  to  enter,  and 
the  honors  upon  which  he  ab-eady  calculated 
in  his  imagination  as  but  stepping  stones  to 
what  lay  after,  and  offered  himself  up  with 
a  certain  youthful  effusion  and  superabun- 
dance to  his  Church  and  his  country,  for 
which  he  had  assuredly  something  to  do 
more  than  other  men.  And  then,  when 
Colin  had  got  so  far  as  this,  and  was  tossing 
his  young  head  proudly  In  the  glory  of  his 
intentions,  there  came  a  little  start  and 
shiver,  and  that  sense  of  the  curb,  which  had 
strtjik  him  first  after  his  confidence  with  his 
mo^r,  returned  to  his  mind.  But  the  bond- 
age seemed  to  grow  more  and  more  vision- 
ary as  he  went  on.  Alice  had  given  him  up, 
so  to  speak ;  she  was  debarred  by  her  father 
from  any  correspondence  with  him,  and 
might,  for  anything  Colin  knew,  gentle  and 
yielding  as  she  was,  be  made  to  marry  some 
one  else  by  the  same  authority ;  and,  though 
he  did  not  discuss  the  question  with  himself 
in  words,  it  became  more  and  more  hard  to 
Colin  to  contemplate  the  possibility  of  hav- 
ing to  abridge  his  studies  and  sacrifice  his 
higher  alms  to  the  necessity  of  getting  set- 
tled In  life.  If  he  were  "  settled  In  life  "  to- 
morrow, It  could  only  be  as  an  undistin- 
guished Scotch  minister,  poor,  so  far  as 
money  was  concerned,  and  with  no  higher 
channel  either  to  use  or  fame;  and,  at  his 
age,  to  be  only  like  his  neighbors  was  irk- 
some to  the  young  man.  Those  neighbors, 
or  at  least  the  greater  part  of  them,  were 


192 


A   SON   OF   THE   SOIL. 


good  fellows  enough  in  their  way.  So  far 
as  a  vague  general  conception  of  life  and  its 
meaning  went,  they  were  superior  as  a  class 
in  Colin's  opinion  to  the  class  represented 
by  that  gentle  curate  of  Wodensbourne, 
whose  soul  was  absorbed  in  the  restoration 
of  his  Church,  and  the  fit  states  of  mind  for 
the  Sundays  after  Trinity ;  but  there  were 
also  particulars  in  which,  as  a  class,  they 
were  inferior  to  that  mild  and  gentlemanly 
Anglican.  As  for  Colin,  he  had  not  formed 
his  ideal  on  any  curate  or  even  bishop  of  the 
wealthier  Church.  Like  other  fervent  young 
men,  an  eager  discontent  with  everything  he 
saw  lay  at  the  bottom  of  his  imaginations ; 
and  it  was  the  development  of  Christianity  — 
"  more  chivalrous,  more  magnanimous,  than 
that  of  modern  times  "  —  that  he  thought  of 
A  dangerous  condition  of  mind,  no  doubt,  and 
the  people  round  him  would  have  sneered 
much  at  Colin  and  his  ambition  had  he 
put  it  into  words ;  but,  after  all,  it  was  an 
ideal  worth  contemplating  which  he  pre- 
sented to  himself.  In  the  midst  of  these 
thoughts,  and  of  all  the  future  possibilities  of 
life,  it  was  a  little  hard  to  be  suddenly 
stopped  short,  and  reminded  of  Mariana  in 
her  moated  grange,  sighing,  "  He  does  not 
come."  If  he  did  come,  making  all  the  un- 
speakable sacrifices  necessary  to  that  end, 
as  his  mother  seemed  to  think  he  should,  the 
probabilities  were  that  the  door  of  the  grange 
would  be  closed  upon  him ;  and  who  could 
tell  but  that  Alice,  always  so  docile,  might 
be  diverted  even  from  the  thought  of  him  by 
some  other  suitor  presented  to  her  by  her 
father  ?  Were  Colin's  hopes  to  be  sacrificed 
to  her  possible  faith,  and  the  possible  re- 
lenting of  Mr.  Meredith  ?  And,  alas !  amid 
all  the  new  impulses  that  were  rising  within 
him,  there  came  again  the  vision  of  that  wo- 
man in  the  clouds,  whom  as  yet,  though  he 
had  been  in  love  with  Matty  Frankland,  and 
had  all  but  married  Alice  Meredith,  Colin 
had  never  seen.  She  kissed  her  shadowy 
hand  to  him  by  times  out  of  those  rosy  va- 
pors which  floated  among  the  hills  when  the 
6un  had  gone  down,  and  twilight  lay  sweet 
over  the  Holy  Loch  —  and  beckoned  him 
on,  on,  to  the  future  and  the  distance  where 
she  was.  When  the  apparition  had  glanced 
out  upon  him  after  this  old  fashion,  Colin 
felt  all  at  once  the  jerk  of  the  invisible  bridle 
on  his  neck,  and  chafed  at  it ;  and  then  he 
shut  his  eyes  wilfully,  and  rushed  on  faster 
than  before,  and  did  his  best  to  ignore  the 
curb.  After  all,  it  was  no  curb  if  it  were 
rightly  regarded.  Alice  had  released,  and 
her  father  had  rejected  him,  and  he  had 
been  accused  of  fortune-hunting,  and  treated 
like  a  man  unworthy  of  consideration.     So 


far  as  external  circumstances  went,  no  one 
could  blame  him  for  inconstancy,  no  one 
could  imagine  that  the  engagement  thus 
broken  was,  according  to  any  code  of  honor, 
binding  upon  Colin ;  but  yet —  This  was 
the  uncomfortable  state  of  mind  in  which  he 
was  when  he  finally  committed  himself  to 
the  Balliol  Scholarship,  and  thus  put  off 
that  "  settling  in  life "  which  the  Mistress 
thought  due  to  Alice.  When  the  matter 
was  concluded,  however,  the  young  man  be- 
came more  comfortable.  At  all  events,  un- 
til the  termination  of  his  studies,  no  decision, 
one  way  or  other,  could  be  expected  from 
him ;  and  it  would  still  be  two  years  before 
Alice  was  of  the  age  to  decide  for  herself. 
He  discussed  the  matter  —  so  far  as  he  ever 
permitted  himself  to  discuss  it  with  any  one 

—  with  Lauderdale,  who  managed  to  spend 
the  last  Sunday  with  him  at  Ramore.  It 
was  only  October,  but  winter  had  begun  be- 
times, and  a  sprinkling  of  snow  lay  on  the 
hills  at  the  head  of  the  loch.  The  water  it- 
self, all  crisped  and  brightened  by  a  slight 
breeze  and  a  frosty  sun,  lay  dazzling  be- 
tween its  gray  banks,  reflecting  every  shade 
of  color  upon  them ;  the  russet  lines  of  wood 
with  wliich  their  little  glens  were  outlined, 
and  the  yellow  patches  of  stubble,  or  late 
corn,  still  unreaped,  that  made  the  lights  of 
the  landscape,  and  relieved  the  hazy  green 
of  the  pastures,  and  the  brown  waste  of 
withered  bracken  and  heather  above.  The  ' 
wintry  day,  the  clearness  of  the  frosty  air, 
and  the  touch  of  snow  on  the  hills,  gave  to 
the  Holy  Loch  that  touch  of  color  which  is 
the  only  thing  ever  wanting  to  its  loveliness ; 
a  color  cold,  it  is  true,  but  in  accordance 
with  the  scene.  The  waves  came  up  with 
a  lively  cadence  on  the  beach,  and  the  wind 
blew  showers  of  yellow  leaves  in  the  faces  of 
the  two  friends  as  they  walked  home  to- 
gether from  the  church.  Sir  Thomas  had 
detained  them  in  the  first  place,  and  after 
him  the  minister,  who  had  emerged  from  his 
little  vestry  in  time  for  half  an  hour's  con- 
versation with  his  young  parishioner,  who 
was  something  of  a  hero  on  the  Holy  Loch 

—  a  hero,  and  yet  subject  to  the  ine^"itable 
touch  of  familiar  depreciation  which  belongs 
to  a  prophet  in  liis  own  country.  The  crowd 
of  church-goers  had  dispersed  from  the  roads 
when  the  two  turned  their  faces  towards 
Ramore.  Perhaps  by  reason  of  the  yew- 
trees  under  which  they  had  to  pass,  perhajjs 
because  this  Sunday,  too,  marked  a  crisis,  it 
occurred  to  both  of  them  to  think  of  their 
walk  through  the  long  ilex  avenues  of  the 
Frascati  villa,  the  Sunday  after  Meredith's 
death.  It  was  Lauderdale,  as  was  natural, 
who  returned  to  that  subject  the  first. 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


193 


"  It's  a  wee  hard  to  believe  tliat  it's  the 
same  world,"  he  said,  "  and  that  you  and  me 
are  making  our  way  to  Ramore,  and  not  to 
yon  painted  cha'amer,  and  our  friend,  with 
her  distatr  in  lier  hand.  I'm  whiles  no  clear 
in  my  mind  that  we  were  ever  there." 

At  which  Colin  was  a  little  impatient, 
as  was  natural.  "Don't  be  fantastic,"  he 
said.  "  It  does  not  matter  about  Sora  An- 
tonia  ;  but  there  are  other  things  not  so 
easily  dropped ; "  and  here  the  young  man 
paused  and  uttered  a  sigh,  which  arose  half 
from  a  certain  momentary  longing  for  the 
gentle  creature  to  whom  his  faith  was 
plighted,  and  half  from  an  irksome  sense  of 
•:he  disadvantages  of  having  plighted  his 
i^ith. 

"  Ay,"  said  Lauderdale,  "  I'm  no  fond 
myself  of.  dropping  threads  like  that. 
There's  nae  telling  when  they  may  be  joined 
again,  or  how;  but  if  it's  ony  comfoi-t  to 
you,  Colin,  I'm  a  great  believer  in  sequences. 
I  never  put  ony  faith  in  things  breaking  off 
clean  in  an  arbitrary  way.  Thae  two  didna 
enter  your  life  to  be  put  out  again  by  the 
will  of  an  old  fool  of  a  father.  I'll  no  say 
that  I  saw  the  requirements  of  Providence 
just  as  clear  as  you  thought  you  did,  but  I 
canna  put  faith  in  an  ending  like  what's 
happened.  You  and  her  are  awfu'  young. 
You  have  time  to  wait." 

"  Time  to  wait,"  repeated  Colin  in  his 
impatience;  "there  is  something  more 
needed  than  time.  Mr.  Meredith  has  re- 
turned me  my  last  letter  with  a  request  that 
J  should  not  trouble  his  daughter  again. 
You  do  not  think  a  man  can  go  on  in  the 
face  of  that." 

"He's  naething  but  a  jailer,  callant,"  said 
Lauderdale ;  "  no  that  I  am  saying  anything 
against  an  honorable  occupation,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  a  moment's  pause,  with  a  grim 
smile  crossing  his  face ;  "  there  was  a  man 
at  Ephesus  in  that  way  of  living  that  I've 
aye  had  an  awfu'  respect  for — but  the  poor 
bit  bonnie  bird  in  the  cage  is  neither  art 
nor  part  in  that.  When  the  time  comes 
we'll  a'  ken  better  ;  and  here,  In  the  mean- 
time, you  are  making  another  beginning  of 
your  life." 

"  It  appears  to  me  I  am  always  —  making 
beginnings,"  said  Colin.  "  It  was  much 
such  a  day  as  this  when  Harry  Frankland 
fell  into  the  loch  —  that  was  a  kind  of 
beginning  in  its  way.  Wodensbourne  was 
a  beginning,  and  so  was  Italy  —  and  now 
—    It  appears  life  is  made  up  of  such." 

"  You're  no  so  far  wrong  there,"  said 
Lauderdale;  "but  it's  grand  to  make  the 
new  start  like  you,  with  a'  heaven  and 
earth  on  your  side.     I've  kent  them  that 

13 


had  to  set  their  face  to  the  brae  with  baith 
earth  and  heaven  against  them  —  or  any 
way  so  it  seemed.  It's  ill  getting  new 
images,"  said  the  philosopher  meditatively. 
"  I  wonder  who  it  was  first  found  out  that 
life  was  a  journey.  It's  no  an  original  idea 
nowadays,  but  its  aye  awfu'  true.  A  man 
sets  out  with  a  hantle  mair  things  than  he 
needs,  impedimenta  of  a'  kinds ;  but  he 
leaves  the  maist  of  them  behind  afore  he's 
reached  the  middle  of  the  road.  You've  an 
awfu'  tJody  of  opinions,  callant,  besides 
other  things  to  dispose  o'.  I'm  thinking 
Oxford  will  do  you  good  for  that.  You're 
no  likely  to  take  up  with  their  superfluities, 
and  you'll  get  rid  of  some  of  your  ain." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  call  superfluities," 
said  Colin.  "  I  don't  think  I  am  a  man  of 
many  opinions.  A  few  things  are  vital  and 
cannot  be  dispensed  with,  and  these  you  are 
quite  as  distinct  upon  as  I  can  be.  How- 
ever,. I  don't  go  to  Oxford  to  learn  that." 

"  Tm  awfu'  curious  to  ken  in  a  general 
way,"  said  Lauderdale,  "  what  you  are  going 
to  Oxford  to  learn.  Latin  and  Greek  and 
Mathematics?  You're  no  a  bad  hand  at 
the  classics,  callant.  I  would  like  to  ken 
what  it  was  that  you  were  meaning  to  pay 
thi-ee  good  years  of  life  to  learn." 

Upon  which  Colin  laughed,  and  felt,  with- 
out knowing  why,  a  flush  come  to  his  cheek. 
"  If  I  should  prefer  to  win  my  spurs  some- 
where else  than  at  home,"  said  the  young 
man  lightly,  "  should  you  wonder  at  that  ? 
Beside,  the  English  universities  have  a 
greater  reputation  than  ours  —  and  in 
short " — 

"  For  idle  learning,"  said  Lauderdale  with 
a  little  heat ;  "  not  for  the  science  of  guid- 
ing men,  which,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  is  what 
you're  aiming  at.  No  that  I'm  the  man  to 
speak  ony  blasphemy  against  the  dead 
languages,"  said  the  philosopher,  "  if  the 
like  of  that  was  to  be  your  trade ;  but 
for  a  Scotch  parish,  or  maybe  a  Scotch 
presbytery  —  or  in  the  course  of  time,  if  a 
goes  well,  an  Assembly  of  the  Kirk"  — 

"  Stuff,"  cried  Colin  ;  "  does  not  all  men- 
tal discipline  train  a  man,  whatever  his  des- 
tination may  be  ?  Besides,"  the  young  man 
said  with  a  laugh,  half  of  pride,  half  of 
shame,  "  I  want  to  show  these  fellows  that  a 
man  may  win  their  honors  and  carry  them 
back  to  the  old  Chm-ch,  which  they  talk 
about  in  a  benevolent  way,  as  if  it  was  in  the 
South  Sea  Islands.  Well,  that  is  my  weak- 
ness. I  want  to  bring  their  prizes  back 
here,  and'wear  them  at  home. 

"  The  callant's  crazy,"  said  Lauderdale, 
but  the  idea  was  sufficiently  in  accord  with 
his  national  sentiments  to  be  treated  with 


194 


A   SON   OF   THE   SOIL. 


indulgence ;  "  tut,  as  for  stickino:  a  wheen 
useless  feathers  into  the  douce  bonnet  of  a 
sober  old  Kirk  like  ours,  I  see  nae  advantage 
in  it.  It  miglit  maybe  be  spoiling  the  Egyp- 
tians," added  the  philosopher  grimly,  "  but 
as  for  ony  good  to  us  —  You're  like  a'  young 
creatures,  callant ;  you're  awfu'  fond  of  the 
impedimenta.  Reputation  of  that  descrip- 
tion is  a  fashious  thing  to  carry  about,  not  to 
say  that  three  years  of  a  callant's  life  is  no  a 
time  to  be  calculated  upon.  You  may 
change  your  mind  two  or  three  times  over 
between  that  and  this." 

"  You  have  very  little  respect  for  my  con- 
stancy, Lauderdale,"  said  Colin ;  and  then 
he  felt  irritated  with  himself  for  the  word 
he  had  used.  "  In  what  respect  do  you 
suppose  I  can  change  my  mind  ?  "  he  asked 
with  a  little  impatience ;  and  Colin  lifted 
his  eyes  full  upon  his  friend's  face,  as  he 
had  learned  to  do  when  there  was  question 
of  Alice,  though  certainly  it  could  not  be 
supposed  that  there  was  any  question  of 
Alice  in  the  present  case. 

"  Whisht,  callant,"  said  Lauderdale ;  "  I've 
an  awfu'  trust  in  your  constancy.  It's  one 
o'  the  words  I  like  best  in  the  English 
language,  or  in  the  Scotch  either  for  that 
matter.  It's  a  kind  of  word  that  canna  be 
slipped  over  among  a  crowd,  but  craves  full 
saying  and  a'  its  letters  sounded.  As  I  was 
saying,"  he  continued,  changing  his  tone, 
"I'ma  great  believer  in  sequences;  there's 
mony  new  beginnings,  but  there's  nae  abso- 
lute end  short  of  dying,  which  is  aye  an  end 
for  this  world,  so  far  as  a  man  can  see. 
And,  next  to  God  and  Christ,  which  are  the 
grand  primitive  necessities,  without  which 
no  man  can  take  his  journey,  I'm  aye  for 
counting  true  love  and  goofl  faith.  I 
wouldna  say  but  what  a'  the  rest  were  more 
ovXq?,?, impedimenta  "  said  Lauderdale  ;  "but 
that's  no  the  question  under  discussion. 
You  might  change  your  mind  upon  a'  the 
minor  matters,  and  no  be  inconstant.  For 
example,  you  might  be  drawn  in  your  mind 
to  the  English  kirk  after  three  years;  or 
you  might  come  to  think  you  were  destined 
for  nae  kirk  at  all,  but  for  other  occupations 
in  this  world;  and,  as  for  me,  I  wouldna 
blame  you.  As  long  as  you're  true  to  your 
Master  —  and  next  to  yoursel'  —  and  next 
to  them  that  trust  you,"  said  Colin's  faithful 
counsellor ;  "  and  of  that  I've  no  fear." 

"  I  did  not  think  of  setting  the  question 
on  such  a  solemn  basis,"  said  Colin  with  an 
amount  of  irritation  which  annoyed  himself, 
and  which  he  could  not  subdue ;  "  however, 
time  will  show ;  and  here  we  are  at  Ramore." 
Indeed  the  young  man  was  rather  glad  to  be 
so  near  Ramore.    This  talk  of  constancy 


exasperated  him,  he  could  not  tell  how ;  for, 
to  be  sure,  he  meant  no  inconstancy.  Yet, 
when  the  sunset  came  again,  detaching  rosy 
cloudlets  from  the  great  masses  of  vapor, 
and  shedtling  a  mist  of  gold  and  purple 
over  the  hills  —  and  when  those  wistful 
stretches  of  "  daffodil  sky  "  opened  out  over 
the  western  ramparts  of  the  Holy  Loch 
—  Colin  turned  his  eyes  from  the  wonderful 
heavens  as  if  from  a  visible  enemy.  Was 
not  she  there  as  always,  that  impossible 
woman,  wooing  him  on  into  the  future,  into 
the  unimaginable  distance  where  somewhere 
she  might  be  found  any  day  waiting  him  ? 
He  turned  his  back  upon  the  west,  and  went 
down  of  his  own  will  to  the  dark  shade  of 
the  yew-trees,  which  were  somehow  like 
the  ilex  alleys  of  the  sweet  Alban  hills ;  but 
even  there  he  carried  his  impatience  with 
him,  and  found  it  best  on  the  whole  to  go 
home  and  give  himself  up  to  the  home  talk 
of  Ramore,  in  which  many  questions  were 
discussed  unconnected  with  the  beasts,  but 
where  this  one  fundamental  question  was 
for  the  present  named  no  more. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

CoLix's  career  at  Oxford  does  not  lie  in 
the  way  of  his  present  historian,  though,  to 
be  sure,  a  few  piquant  particulars  might  be 
selected  of  the  way  in  which  a  pair  of  young 
Scotch  eyes,  with  a  light  in  them  somewhat 
akin  to  genius,  but  trained  to  see  the  reali- 
ties of  homely  life  on  the  Holy  Loch,  regard- 
ed the  peculiar  existence  of  the  steady,  ar- 
tificial old  world,  and  the  riotous  but  sub- 
missive new  world,  which  between  them 
form  a  university.  Colin  who,  like  most  of 
his  countrymen,  found  a  great  deal  of  the 
"  wit "  of  the  community  around  him  to  be 
sheer  nonsense,  sometimes  agreeable,  some- 
times much  the  reverse,  had  also  like  his  na- 
tion a  latent  but  powerful  sense  of  humor, 
which,  backed  by  a  few  prejudices,  and 
stimulated  a  little  by  the  different  manners 
current  in  the  class  to  which  he  himself  be- 
longed, revealed  to  him  many  wonderful  ab- 
surdities in  the  unconscious  microcosm  which 
felt  itself  a  universe,  —  a  revelation  which 
restored  any  inequality  in  the  balance  of  af- 
fairs, and  made  the  Scotch  undergraduate 
at  his  case  in  his  new  circumstances.  For 
his  own  part,  he  stood  in  quite  a  dillerent 
position  from  the  host  of  young  men,  most 
of  them  younger  than  himself,  by  whom  he 
found  himself  surrounded.  They  were  ac- 
complishing without  any  very  definite  object 
the  natural  and  usual  coui-se  of  their  edu- 
cation —  a  process  which  everybody  had  to 
<I0  throusih,  and  which,  with  more  or  less 


A    SON   OF   THE   SOIL. 


195 


credit,  their  fathers,  brothers,  friends,  and 
relatives  had  passed  through  before  them. 
Life  beyond  the  walls  of  the  University  had 
doubtless  its  objects  more  interesting  than 
the  present  routine ;  but  there  was  no  such 
immediate  connection  between  those  objects 
and  that  routine  as  Colin  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  see  in  his  Scotch  college.  As  for 
Colin  himself,  he  was  aiming  at  a  special 
end,  which  made  his  course  distinct  for  him 
among  his  more  careless  companions;  he 
was  bent  on  the  highest  honors  attainable 
by  hard  work  and  powers  much  above  the 
average ;  and  this  determination  would 
have  acted  as  a  moral  shield  to  him  against 
the  meaner  temptations  of  the  place,  even 
if  he  had  not  already  been  by  disposition 
and  habits  impervious  to  them.  The  higher 
danger  —  the  many  temptations  to  which 
Colin,  like  other  young  men,  was  exposed, 
of  contenting  himself  with  a  brilliant  impro- 
duclive  social  reputation  —  were  warded  off 
from  him  by  the  settled  determination  with 
which  he  entered  upon  his  work.  For 
Scotch  sentiment  is  very  distinct  on  this 
question;  and  Colin  understood  perfectly 
that,  if  he  returned  with  only  a  moderate 
success,  his  Alma  Mater  would  be  utterly 
disgusted  with  her  pet  student,  and  his  rep- 
utation would  fall  to  a  considerably  lower 
ebb  than  if  he  had  been  content  to  stay  at 
home.  He  came  upon  that  tranquil  academ- 
ic scene  in  the  true  spirit  of  an  invader ; 
not  unfriendly  —  on  the  contrary,  a  keen 
observer  of  everything,  an  eager  and  inter- 
ested spectator  of  all  the  peculiar  habitudes 
of  the  foreign  country  —  but  chiefly  bent 
upon  snatching  the  laurel,  as  soon  as  that 
should  be  possible,  and  carrying  home  his 
spoil  in  triumph.  He  entered  Oxford,  in 
short,  as  the  Czar  Peter,  had  he  been  less  a 
savage,  might  have  been  supposed  to  estab- 
lish himself  in  the  bosom  of  the  homely  En- 
glish society  of  his  time,  seeing,  with  eyes 
brightened  by  curiosity  and  the  novelty  of 
the  spectacle,  various  matters  in  a  ridiculous 
light  which  were  performed  with  the  utmost 
gravity  and  unconsciousness  by  the  accus- 
tomed inhabitants ;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
discovering  as  many  particulars  from  which 
he  might  borrow  some  advantage  to  his  own 
people.  Certainly,  Czar  Peter,  who  was  at 
once  an  absolute  monarch  and  the  most  en- 
hghtened  man  of  his  nation,  stood  in  a  some- 
what different  position  from  the  nameless 
Scotch  student,  between  whom  and  other 
Scotch  students  no  ordinary  observer  could 
have  discovered  much  difference;  but  the 
aspirations  of  young  men  of  Colin's  age  are 
fortunately  unlimited  by  reason,  and  the 
plan  he  had  conceived  of  working  a  revolu- 


tion in  his  native  Church  and  country,  or, 
at  least,  aiming  at  that  to  the  highest  extent . 
of  his  powers,  was  as  legitimate,  to  say  the 
least,  as  the  determination  to  make  a  great 
fortune  with  which  other  young  men  of  his 
nation  have  confronted  the  world.  Colin 
frequented  the  Oxford  churches  as  he  had 
frequented  those  in  Rome,  with  his  para- 
mount idea  in  his  mind,  and  listened  to  the 
sermons  in  them  with  that  prevailing  refer- 
ence to  the  audience  which  he  himself  ex- 
pected, which  gave  so  strange  an  aspect  to 
much  that  he  heard.  To  be  sure,  it  was  not 
the  best  way  to  draw  religious  advantage  for 
himself  from  the  teachings  he  listened  to ; 
but  yet  the  process  was  not  without  its  bene- 
fits to  the  predestined  priest.  He  seemed  to 
himself  to  be  looking  on  while  the  Universi- 
ty preacher  dehvered  his  dignified  periods, 
not  to  the  actual  assembly,  but  to  a  shrewd 
and  steady  Scotch  congregation,  not  easily 
moved  either  to  reverence  or  enthusiasm, 
and  with  a  national  sense  of  logic.  He 
could  not  help  smiling  to  himself  when,  in 
the  midst  of  some  elaborate  piece  of  reason- 
ing, the  least  little  step  aside  landed  the 
speaker  upon  that  quagmire  of  ecclesiastical 
authority  which  with  Colin's  audience  would 
go  far  to  neutralize  all  the  argument.  The 
young  man  fancied  he  could  see  the  elders 
shake  their  heads,  and  the  rural  philosophers 
remark  to  each  other,  "  He  maun  have  been 
awfu'  ill  off  for  an  argument  afore  he  landed 
upon  you."  And,  when  the  preacher  pro- 
ceeded to  "  our  Church's  admirable  arrange- 
ments," and  displayed  with  calm  distinct- 
ness the  final  certainty  that  perfection  had 
been  absolutely  attained  by  that  venerated 
mother,  the  young  Scotchman  felt  a  prick  of 
contradiction  in  his  heart  on  his  own  account 
as  well  as  that  of  his  imaginary  audience. 
He  thought  to  himself  that  the  same  argu- 
ments employed  on  behalf  of  the  Church  of 
Scotland  would  go  a  long  way  towards  un- 
settling the  national  faith,  and  smiled  within 
himself  at  the  undoubting  assumption  which 
his  contradictory  northern  soul  was  so  far 
from  accepting.  He  was  not  a  bad  emblem 
of  his  nation  in  this  particular,  at  least.  He 
consented  without  a  remonstrance  to  matters 
of  detail,  such  as  were  supposed  by  anybody, 
who  had  curiosity  enough  to  inquire  into  the 
singular  semi-savage  religious  practices  of 
Scotland,  to  be  specially  discordant  to  the 
ideas  of  his  country;  but  he  laughed  at "  our 
Church's  admirable  arrangements  "  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  set  the  hair  of  the  University 
on  end.  The  principles  of  apostolic  succes- 
sion and  unbroken  ecclesiastical  descent 
produced  in  this  daring  young  sceptic,  not  in- 
dignation nor  argument,,  which  might  have 


196 


A   SON   OF   THE   SOIL. 


been  tolerated,  but  an  amused  disreganl 
■which  was  unbearable.  He  was  always  so 
conscious  of  what  his  Scotch  audience,  buried 
soiiiewhere  among  the  hills  in  the  seclusion 
of  a  country  pari..i,  would  think  of  such  pre- 
tentions, and  laughed  not  at  the  doctrine  so 
much  as  at  the  thought  of  their  reception  of 
it.  In  this  respect  the  young  Scotchman, 
embodying  his  country,  was  the  most  contra- 
dictory of  men. 

He  was  not  very  much  more  satisfactory 
in  the  other  region,  where  the  best  of  Angli- 
cans occasionally  wander,  and  where  men 
who  hold  with  the  firmest  conviction  the 
doctrine  of  apostolic  succession  sometimes 
show  a  strange  degree  of  uncertainty  about 
things  more  important.  Colin's  convictions 
were  vague  enough  on  a  great  many  matters 
which  were  considered  vital  on  the  ■  Holy 
Loch ;  and  perhaps  he  was  not  a  much  more 
satisfactory  hearer  in  his  parish  church  at 
home  than  he  was  in  Oxford  when  there 
was  question  of  the  descendants  of  the 
apostles.  But  amidst  this  sea  of  vague 
and  undeveloped  thought,  which  was 
not  so  much  doubt  as  uncertainty,  there 
stood  up  several  rocks  of  absolute  faith 
which  were  utterly  impervious  to  assault. 
His  mind  was  so  far  conformed  to  his  age 
that  he  could  hear  even  these  ultimate  and 
fundamental  matters  canvassed  by  the  calm 
philosophers  about  him,  without  an)^  undue 
theological  heat  or  passion  of  defence  ;  but 
it  soon  became  evident  that  on  these  points 
the  young  Scotchman  was  immovable,  a  cer- 
tainty which  made  him  an  interesting  study 
to  some  of  his  companions  and  teachers.  It 
would  be  foolish  to  say  that  his  faith  procured 
for  him  that  awe  and  respect  which  the  pop-  j 
ular  mind  takes  it  for  g:-anted  a  company  of 
sceptics  must  always  feel  for  the  one  among 
them  who  retains  his  religious  convictions. 
On  the  contrary,  Colin's  world  was  amused 
by  his  belief.  It  was,  itself  to  start  with,  a 
perfectly  pious,  well-conducted  world,  saying 
its  prayers  like  everybody  else,  and  contain- 
ing nothing  within  its  placid  bosom  which  in 
the  least  resembled  the  li-ee-thinkers  of  an- 
cient days.  The  Church  was  not  the  least 
in  the  ^vorld  in  danger  from  that  mild  frater- 
nity, to  which  every  kind  of  faith  was  a  thing 
to  ije  talked  about,  to  evolve  lines  of  thought 
upon,  and  give  rise  to  the  most  refined,  and 
acute,  and  charming  conversation.  But  as 
for  Colin,  they  regarded  him  with  an  amused 
observation  as  a  rare  specimen  of  the  semi- 
cultivated,  semi-savage  intelligence  which  is 
always  so  refreshing  to  a  society  which  has 
fclined  itself  to  a  point  somewhat  beyond  na- 
ture. He  was  "  a  most  interesting  young 
man,"  and  they  found  in  him  "  a  beautiful 


i  enthusiasm,"  an  "  engaging  simplicity."  As 
I  for  Colin,  he  was  quite  aware  of  the  some- 
what unfounded  admiration  with  which  he 
was  regarded,  and  smiled  in  his  turn  at  his 
observers  with  a  truer  consciousness  of  the 
!  humor  of  the  position  than  they  could  possi- 
bly have  who  saw  only  half  of  it;  but  lie 
kept  his  .'ihrewd  Scotch  eyes  open  all  the  time, 
and  halfunconciously  made  himself  acquaint- 
ed with  a  great  many  new  developments  of 
that  humanity  which  was  to  be  the  material 
of  all  the  labors  of  his  life.  He  had  it  in  his 
power  to  remark  the  exact  and  delicate  points 
at  which  Anglicanism  joined  on  to  the  newer 
fashion  of  intellectualism,  and  to  note  how  a 
morsel  of  faith  the  less  might  be  now  and 
then  conciliated  and  made  up  for  by  a  mor- 
sel of  observance  the  more  ;  and,  beside  this, 
he  became  aware  of  the  convenient  possibil- 
ity of  dividing  a  man,  and  making  him  into 
two  or  three  different  'f  beings,"  as  occasion 
required ;  so  that  the  emotional  human  being 
—  having  sundry  natural  weaknesses,  such 
as  old  association  and  youthful  habit,  and  a 
regard  to  the  feelings  of  others,  not  to  speak 
of  the  affectionate  prejudices  of  a  good 
Churchman  —  was  quite  free  to  do  his  daily 
service  at  chapel,  and  say  his  prayers,  even 
at  the  very  moment  when  the  intellectual 
being  was  busy  with  the  most  delicate  de- 
monstration that  prayer  in  a  universe  govern- 
ed by  absolute  law  was  an  evident  abstn-dity 
and  contradiction  of  all  reason.  Colin  for 
his  part  looked  on  at  this  partition,  and  smiled 
in  his  turn.  He  was  not  shocked,  as  per- 
haps he  ought  to  have  been ;  but  then,  as 
has  been  said,  he  too  was  a  man  of  his  age, 
and  found  many  things  which  were  required 
by  absolute  orthodoxy  unnecessary  impedi- 
menta, as  Lauderdale  had  called  them.  But, 
with  all  this,  the  young  man  had  never  been 
able  to  cut  himself  in  half,  and  he  wonld  not 
learn  to  regard  the  process  as  one  either  ad- 
vantageous or  honorable.  Such,  apart  from 
the  work  which  was  necessary  in  obedience 
to  his  grand  original  impulse,  were  the  stud- 
ies he  pursued  in  Oxford.  At  the  same  time 
he  had  another  occupation  in  hand,  strangely 
out  of  accord  at  once  with  those  studies  and 
with  his  own  thoughts.  This  was  the  publi- 
cation of  poor  ]\Ieredith's  book,  the  "  Voice 
from  the  Grave,"  at  which  he  had  labored  to 
the  latest  moment  of  his  life.  In  it  was  rep- 
resented another  world,  an  altogether  con- 
tradictory type  of  existence.  Between  Col- 
in's intellectual  friends,  to  whom  the  "  Here- 
after "  was  a  curious  and  interesting  but  al- 
together bafiling  subject  of  investigation,  and 
the  dying  youth  who  had  gone  out  of  this 
world  in  a  dauntless  primitive  confidence  of 
findinjr  himself  at  once  in  the  shining  streets 


A   SON    OF   THE   SOIL. 


.and  endless  sunshine  of  the  New  Jerusalem, 
the  difference  was  so  great  as  to  be  past 
counting.  As  for  the  young  editor,  his  view 
of  life  was  as  far  different  from  Meredith's  as 
it  was  from  that  of  his  present  companions. 
The  great  light  of  heaven  was  to  Colin,  as 
to  many  others,  as  impenetrable  as  the  p 
fouudest  darkness  ;  he  could  neither  see  into 
it,  nor  permit  himself  to  make  guesses  of 
what  was  going  on  beyond  ;  and,  consequent- 
ly, he  had  httle  sympathy  with  the  kimd  of 
piety  which  regards  life  as  a  preparation  for 
death.  Sometimes  he  smiled,  sometimes  he 
sighed  over  the  proofs  as  he  corrected  them ; 
sometimes,  but  for  knowing  as  he  did  the  ut- 
ter truthfnlness  with  which  the  dead  writer 
had  set  forth  his  one-sided  and  narrow  con- 
ception of  the  world,  Colin  would  have  been 
disposed  to  toss  into  the  fire  those  strange 
warnings  and  exhortations.  But  when  he 
thought  of  the  young  author,  dead  in  his 
youth,  and  of  all  the  doings  and  sayings  of 
those  months  in  which  they  lived  together, 
and,  more  touching  still,  of  those  conversa- 
tions that  were  held  on  the  very  brink  of  the 
grave,  and  at  the  gate  of  heaven,  his  heart 
smote  him.  And  then  his  new  friends  broke 
in  upon  him,  and  discussed  the  proofs  with 
opinions  so  various  that  Colin  could  but  ad- 
mire and  wonder.  One  considered  them  a 
curious  study  of  the  internal  consciousness, 
quite  worthy  the  attention  of  a  student  of 
mental  phenomena.  Another  was  of  opin- 
ion that  such  stuff  was  the  kind  of  nutriment 
fit  for  the  uneducated  classes,  who  had  strong 
religious  prejudices,  and  no  brains  to  speak 
of.  When  Colin  found  his  own  sentiments 
thrown  back  to  him  in  this  careless  fashion, 
he  began  to  see  for  the  first  time  the  conceit 
and  self-importance  of  his  judgement.  For 
Meredith  had  faced  death  with  that  faith  of 
his,  and  was  at  least  as  well  able  to  judge  as 
his  present  critic.  The  result  was  that  the 
young  man,  thus  seeing  his  own  defects  re- 
flected out  of  the  eyes  of  others,  learned 
humbleness,  and  went  on  with  his  work  of 
editing,  without  judging.  Other  lessons  of 
a  similar  kind  came  to  him  in  the  same  way 
unawares  ;  and  thus  he  went  on,  thinking 
still  of  that  parish  church  in  Scotland  in  which 
all  these  gifts  of  his  would  be  utterly  lost  and 
buried  according  to  the  judgment  of  the  world. 

"  If  you  have  set  your  heart  on  being  a 
parson,"  some  one  said  to  him  —  and  he  could 
,  not  help  recalling  the  time  when  Sir  Thomas 
Frankland  had  said  exactly  the  same  —  "  go 
into  the  Church,  at  least.  Hang  it !  Camp- 
bell, don't  go  and  bind  vourself  to  a  conven- 
ticle," said  his  anxious  acquaintance ;  "  a  man 
has  always  the  chance  of  doing  something 
in  the  Church." 


197 


"  That  is  precisely  my  idea,""  said  Colin, 
"  though  you  fellows  seem  to  think  it  the 
last  possibility.  And,  besides,  it  is  the  only 
thing  I  can  do,  with  my  ideas.  I  can't  be  a 
statesman,  as  you  have  a  chance  of  being, 
and  I  have  not  an  estate  to  manage.  What 
else  would  you  have  me  do  ?  " 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  another  of  his 
friends,  "you  are  as  sure  of  a  Fellowship  as 
any  man  ever  was.  Go  in  for  literature, 
and  send  your  old  Kirk  to  Jericho :  a  fellow 
like  you  has  nothing  to  do  in  such  a  place. 
One  knows  the  sort  of  thing  precisely ;  any 
blockhead  that  can  thump  his  pulpit,  and 
drone  out  long  prayers  "  — 

"That  is  our  weak  point,"  said  Colin, 
who  felt  much  more  disposed  to  be  angry 
than  became  his  philosophy,  "but  nobody 
can  make  public  prayers  now-a-days ;  it's  a 
forgotten  faculty.  Many  thanks  for  your 
advice,  but  I  prefer  my  own  profession.  It 
should  be  good  for  something,  if  any  profes- 
sion ever  was." 

"  Well,  now,  taking  it  at  the  very  best, 
how  much  do  you  think  you  are  likely  to 
have  a  year  ?  —  a  hundred  and  fifty  per- 
haps ?     No,  I  don't  mean  to  say  that's  final ; 

—  but,  of  course,  a  thoughtful  fellow  like 
you  takes  it  into  consideration,"  said  Colin's 
adviser ; ,"  everything  is  badly  paid  now-a- 
days  —  but,  at  all  events,  there  are  chances., , 
If  a  man  is  made  of  iron  and  brass,  and  has  '• 
the  resolution  of  an  elephant,  he  may  get  to 
be  something  at  the  Bar,  you  know,  and 
make  a  mint  of  money.  And  even  in  the 
Church,  to  be  sure,  if  he's  harmless  and  civil, 
something  worth  having  may  come  in  his 
way  ;  but  you  are  neither  civil  nor  harmless, 
Campbell.  And,  by  Jove !  it's  not  the  Church 
you're  thinking  of,  but  the  Kirk,  which  is 
totally  different.  I've  been  in  Scotland," 
continued  the  Mentor,  with  animation ;  "  it's 
not  even  one  Kirk,  which  would  be  some- 
thing. But  there's  one  at  the  top  of  the  hill 
an-d  one  at  the  bottom,  and  I  defy  any  man 
to  tell  which  is  which.  Come,  Campbell, 
don't  be  a  Quixote  —  give  it  up  ! " 

"  You  might  as  Avell  have  told  my  name- 
sake to  give  up  the  Queen's  service  after  he 
had  lost  a  battle,"  said  Cohn.  "  I  don't  sup- 
pose Sir  Colin  ever  did  lose  a  battle,  by  the 
way.  I  am  not  the  sort  of  stuff  for  a  Fellow 
of  Balliol,"  said  the  young  man  ;  "  I'd  like  to 
work  among  men  —  that  is  my  idea  of  being 
a  priest,  or  clergyman,  or  minister,  or  what- 
ever you  choose  to  call  it.  Next  to  that  I 
should  like  to  command  a  regiment,  I  believe 

—  that's  my  ambition;  and  I  don't  mean, 
you  may  be  sure,  to  desert  my  standard,  and 
take  to  writing  books,  even  if  I  could  do  it. 
Yes,  you  are  perfectly  right,"  said  Colin,  turn- 


198 


A   SON    OF   THE   SOIL. 


ing  round  uik)u  one  of  his  visitors,  who  was 
silent  —  "it  is  almost  the  only  kind  of  king- 
ship possible  to  a  son  of  the  soil." 

"  I  never  said  so,"  said  the  j'oung  man  he 
addressed,  in  a  patronizing  tone  ;  "  I  thought, 
indeed,  you  expressed  yourself  very  well, 
Campbell.  It  is  a  curious  study  altogether. 
Scotland,  though  it  is  what  one  may  call  a 
nation  of  dissenters,  is  always  an  interesting 
country.  If  you  happened  to  be  of  the  seed 
of  the  martyrs,  you  might  lead  her  back  to  I 
a  better  faith." 

At  which  Colin  laughed,  and  forgot  his 
momentary  irritation.  "  None  of  you  know 
anything  about  it ;  let  us  postpone  our  con- 
clusion m  the  meantime  for  ten  years,"  said 
the  cheerful  young  autocrat.  Ten  years  was 
like  to  be  an  eventful  period  to  all  that  little 
assembly  who  were  standing  on  the  verge  of 
life ;  but  they  all  made  very'light  of  it,  as"  was 
natural.  As  for  Colin,  he  did  not  attempt  to 
make  out  to  himself  any  clear  plan  of  what 
he  intended  to  do  and  to  be  in  ten  years. 
Certainly,  he  calculated  upon  having  by  that 
time  reached  the  highest  culmination  of  which 
life  was  capable.  That  he  meant  to  be  a 
prince  in  his  own  country  was  a  careless  ex-  ! 
pression,  unintentionally  arrogant,  and  said  j 
out  of  the  fulness  of  his  heart,  as  so  many 
things  are  for  which  an  account  has  to  be 
given  in  latter  years ;  for,  in  reality,*the  high- ' 


est  projects  that  could  move  the  spirit  of  a 
man  were  in  Colin's  mind.  lie  had  no  thought 
of  becoming  a  popular  preacher,  or  the  ora- 
cle of  a  coterie ;  and  the  idea  of  personal  ad- 
vancement never  came  into  his  head,  rash 
though  his  words  were.  What  he  truly  in- 
tended was  not  quite  known  to  himself,  in 
the  vague  but  magnificent  stimngs  of  his 
ambition.  He  meant  to  take  possession  of 
some  certain  corner  of  his  native  country, 
and  make  of  it  an  ideal  Scotland,  manful  in 
works  and  steadfast  in  belief;  and  he  meant 
from  that  corner  to  influence  and  move  all 
the  land  in  some  mystical  method  known  only 
to  the  imagination.  Such  are  the  splendid 
colors  in  which  fancy,  when  sufficiently  live- 
ly, can  dress  up  even  such  a  sober  reality  as 
the  life  of  a  Scotch  minister.  While  he 
planned  this,  he  seemed  to  himself  so  entire- 
ly a  man  of  experience,  ready  to  smile  at  the 
notions  of  undisciplined  youth,  that  he  suc- 
ceeded in  altogether  checking  and  deceiving 
his  own  inevitable  good  sense  —  that  watchful 
monitor  which  warns  an  imaginative  mind  of 
its  extravagance.  This  was  the  great  dream 
which,  interrupted  now  and  then  by  lighter 
fancies,  had  accompanied  Colin  more  or  less 
clearly  through  all  his  life.  And  now  the 
hour  of  trial  was  about  to  come,  and  the  young 
man's  ambition  was  ready  to  accomplish  itself 
as  best  it  mi^ht. 


A    SON    OF   THE   SOIL. 


199 


PART   XV. 


CHAPTER   XLIII. 


It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  Colin  won  tlie 
prize  on  whicli  he  had  set  his  heart.  The 
record  is  extant  in  the  University,  to  save 
his  historian  trouble ;  and,  to  be  sure,  no- 
body can  be  supposed  to  be  ignorant  on  so 
important  a  point  —  at  least  nobody  who  is 
anybody  and  has  a  character  to  support. 
He  took  a  double  first-class  —  as  he  had  set 
his  heart  on  doing  —  and  thereby  obtained, 
as  some  great  man  once  said  in  a  speech,  an 
equal  standing  to  that  of  a  duke  in  English 
society.  t  is  to  be  feared  that  Colin  did 
not  experience  the  full  benefits  of  his  eleva- 
tion ;  for,  to  be  sure,  such  a  dukedom  is  of  a 
temporary  character,  and  was  scai'cely  likely 
to  survive  beyond  his  year.  But  the  prize 
when  it  was  won,  and  all  the  long  details 
of  the  process  of  winning  it,  were  not  with- 
out their  effect  upon  him.  Colin,  being  still 
young  and  inexjjerienced,  had,  indeed,  the 
idea  that  the  possessor  of  such  a  distinction 
needed  but  to  signify  his  august  will,  and 
straightway  every  possible  avenue  of  ad- 
vancement would  open  before  him.  But  for 
that  idea,  the  pride  of  carrying  home  his 
honours,  and  laying  them  at  the  f3et  of  his 
native  church  and  country,  would  have  been 
much  lessened ;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  when 
the  moment  of  triumph  came,  Colin  yielded 
a  little  to  the  intoxication,  and  lent  his 
thoughts,  in  spit^  of  himself,  to  those 
charmed  voices  of  ambition  which,  in  every 
allegory  that  ever  was  invented,  exercise 
their  siren  influence  on  the  young  man  at 
the  beginning  of  his  career.  He  waited  to 
be  wooed  at  that  eventful  moment.  He  had 
a  vague  idea  at  the.  bottom  of  his  heart  that 
the  State  and  the  Church,  and  the  Bar  and 
the  Press,  would  all  coine  forward  open- 
armed  to  tempt  the  hero  of  the  year ;  and 
he  had  nobly  determined  to  turn  a  deaf  ear 
to  all  their  temptations,  and  cling  to  his  nat- 
ural vocation,  the  profession  to  which  he  had 
been  trained,  with  a  constancy  to  which  the 
world  could  not  fail  to  do  honour.  Colin  ac- 
cordingly took  possession  of  his  honours  with 
a  httle  expectation,  and  waited  for  these 
siren-voices.  When  they  did  not  come,  the 
young  man  was  a  Httle  astonished,  a  little 
mortified  and  cast  down  for  the  moment. 
But  after  that,  happily  the  absurdity  of  the 
position  struck  him.  He  burst  into  sudden 
laughter  in  his  rooms,  where  he  sat  in  all 
the  new  gloss  of  his  fame  and  dignity,  with 
much  congratulation  from  his  friends,  but  no 
particular  excitement  on  the  part  of  the 
world.  Great  Britain,  as  it  appeared  for  the 
moment,  was  not  so  urgently  in  want  of  a 


new  Secretary  of  State  as  to  contest  the 
matter  with  the  parish  of  Glentuuunel, 
which  had  a  claim  upon  the  young  man  as 
its.minister ;  and  neither  the  Times  nor  the 
Quarterly  Review  put  then  forth  any  pre- 
tensions to  him.  And  University  life,  to 
which  he  might  have  had  a  successful  entree, 
did  not  exercise  ony  charm  upon  Colin.  A 
tutorship,  though  with  unlimited  prospect  of 
pupils,  and  hopes  of  reaching  soon  the  au- 
gust elevation  of  Master,  was  not  the  voca- 
tion on  which  he  had  set  his  heart.  'The 
consequence  was,  as  we  have  said,  that  the 
new  Fellow  of  Balliol  remained  expectant  for 
some  time,  then  began  to  feel  mortified  and 
disappointed,  and  finally  arose,  with  a  stoi-m 
of  half-indignant  laughter,  to  find  that,  after 
all,  his  position  was  not  vitaUy  changed  by 
his  successes.  This  was  a  strange,  and  per- 
haps in  some  respects  a  painful,  discovery 
for  a  young  man  to  make.  He  had  distin- 
guished himself  among  his  fellows  as  much 
as  a  young  soldier  who  had  made  himself  the 
hero  of  a  campaign  would  have  distinguished 
himself  among  his ;  but  this  fact  had  very 
little  effect  upon  his  entry  into  the  world. 
If  he  had  been  the  Duke's  son,  his  first-class 
glories  would  have  been  a  graceful  addition 
to  the  natural  honours  of  his  name,  and  per- 
haps might  have  turned  towards  him  with 
favour  the  eyes  of  some  of  those  great  per- 
sons who  hold  the  keys  of  office  in  their 
hands.  But  Colin  was  only  the  farmer  of 
Ramore's  son,  and  his  prize  did  him  no  more 
good  than  any  other  useless  laurel  —  except 
indeed  that  it  might  have  helped  him  to  ad- 
vancement in  the  way  of  pupils,  had  that 
been  Colin's  role.  But  considering  how 
honourable  a  task  it  is  to  rear  the  new  gen- 
eration, it  is  astonishing  how  little  enthusi- 
asm generally  exists  among  young  men  for 
that  fine  and  worthy  office.  Colin  had  not 
the  least  desire  to  devote  himself  hencefor- 
ward to  the  production  of  other  first-cLass 
men  —  though,  doubtless,  that  would  have 
been  a  very  laudable  object  of  ambition ;  and, 
notwithstanding  his  known  devotion  to  the 
"  Kirk,"  as  his  Oxford  friends  liked  to  call 
it,  the  young  man  was,  no  doubt,  a  little  dis- 
appointed to  find  himself  entirely  at  liberty 
to  pursue  his  vocation.  To  be  sure,  Colin's 
"  set "  stiU  remonstrated  against  his  self-im- 
molation, and  assured  him  that  with  his  ad- 
vantages fabulous  things  might  be  done. 
But  the  young  Scotchman  was  too  clear- 
sighted not  to  see  that  a  gi-eat  many  of  his 
congratulating  friends  had  a  very  faint  idea  ^ 
what  to  do  with  themselves,  though  some  of 
them  were  but  a  step  or  two  beneath  him 
in  honours.  And,  in  the  mean  time,  Colin 
felt  quite  conscious  that  the  world  gave  no 


200 


A   SON    OF   THE  SOIL. 


sign  of  wanting  him,  nor  even  availed  itself 
of  the  commonest  opportunities  of  seeking 
his  invaluable  services.  A  man  who  takes 
such  a  discovery  in  good  part,  and  can  turn 
back  without  bitterness  upon  his  original 
intentions,  is  generally  a  man  good  for  some- 
thing; and  this  is  precisely  what,  with 
much  less  flourish  of  trumpets  than  at  the 
beginning,  Colin  found  it  necessary  to  do. 

But  he  was  not  sorry  to  pay  a  visit  to 
Wodensbourne,  where  he  was  invited  after 
his  victory,  and  to  take  a  little  time  to  think 
it  all  over.  Wodensbourne  had  always  been 
a  kind  of  half-way  house.  It  stood  between 
him  and  his  youthful  life,  with  its  limited  ex- 
ternal circumstances  and  unlimited  expec- 
tations —  and  that  other  real  life  —  the  life 
of  the  man,  wonderfully  enlarged  in  out- 
waird  detail,  and  miraculously  shrunk  and 
confined  in  expectation  —  which  by  the 
force  of  the  contrast,  young  as  he  was, 
seemed  to  make  two  men  of  Colin.  It  was 
there  first  that  he  learned  to  distinguish  be- 
tween the  bi'illiant  peasant-firmament  of 
Ramore,  full  of  indistinct  mists  of  glory,  un- 
derneath which  everything  was  possible  — 
an  atmosphere  in  which  poor  men  rose  to 
the  steps  of  the  throne,  and  princesses  mar- 
ried pages,  and  the  world  was  still  young 
and  fresh  and  primitive  ;  and  that  more  real  | 
sky  in  which  the  planets  shone  fixed  and 
unapproachable,  and  where  everything  was 
bound  by  bonds  of  law  and  order,  forbidding 
miracle.  The  more  Colin  had  advanced, 
the  more  had  he  found  advancement  impos- 
sible according  to  the  ideas  entertained  of 
it  in  his  original  sphere ;  and  it  was  at 
Wodensbourne  that  he  had  first  made  this 
grand  discovery.  It  was  there  he  had 
learned  the  impossibility  of  the  fundamental 
romance  which  at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts 
most  people  like  to  believe  in  —  of  that  love 
which  can  leap  over  half  a  world  to  unite 
two  people  and  to  make  them  happy  ever 
after,  in  spite  not  only  of  diiferences  of  for- 
tune but  of  the  far  larger  and  greater  differ- 
ences by  which  society  is  regulated.  Colin 
was  on  perfectly  pleasant  terms  with  Miss 
Matty  by  this  time,  and  did  not  hide  from 
himself  how  much  he  owed  her,  —  though 
perhaps  she,  who  owed  him  a  momentary 
perception  of  the  possibility  which  she  had 
proved  to  his  heart  and  understanding  to  be 
impossible,  would  have  been  but  little  grateful 
had  she  been  made  aware  of  the  nature  of 
his  indebtedness.  And  now,  having  made 
still  another  discovery  in  his  lite,  the 
young  man  was  pleased  to  come  to  Woflens- 
bourne  to  think  over  it,  and  make  out  what 
it  meant.  And  the  Franklands  were,  as 
always,  very  kind  to  Cohn.     Miss  Matty, 


who  had  had  a  great  many  nibbles  in  the 
interval,  was  at  length  on  the  eve  of  being 
married.  And  Harry,  who  had  nothing 
particular  to  do,  and  who  found  Wodens- 
bourne stupid  now  that  he  was  not  to  marry 
his  cousin,  was  abroad,  nobody  seemed  ex- 
actly to  know  where ;  and  various  things, 
not  altogether  joyful,  had  happened  in  the 
family  smce  the  far-distant  age  when  Colin 
was  the  tutor,  and  had  been  willing  for  Miss 
Matty's  sake  to  resign  everj'thing,  if  it  should 
even  be  his  life. 

"  It  will  be  a  very  nice  marriage,"  said 
Lady  Frankland.  "  I  will  not  conceal  from 
you,  Mr.  Campbell,  that  Matty  has  been 
very  thoughtless,  and  given  us  a  great  deal 
of  anxiety.  It  is  always  so  much  more  dif- 
ficult, you  know,  when  you  have  the  charge 
of  a  girl  who  is  not  your  own  child.  One 
can  say  anything  to  one's  own  child;  but 
your  niece,  you  know  —  and,  indeed,  not 
even  your  own,  but  your  husband's  niece  "  — 

"  But  I  am  sure  Miss  Frankland  is  as 
much  attached  to  you,"  said  Colin,  who  did 
not  like  to  hear  Matty  blamed,  "  as  if"  — 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Lady  Frankland  ;  "  but  still 
it  is  different.  You  must  not  think  I  am 
the  least  vexed  about  Harry.  I  never 
thought  her  the  proper  person  for  Harry. 
He  has  so  much  feeling,  though  strangers  do 
not  see  it ;  and,  if  he  had  been  disappointed 
in  his  wife  after  they  were  married,  fancy 
what  my  feelings  would  have  been,  Mr. 
Campbell.  I  was  always  sure  they  never 
would  have  got  on  together ;  and  you  know, 
when  that  is  the  case,  it  is  so  much  better 
to  break  off  at  once." 

"  What  is  that  you  are  saying  about  break- 
ing off  at  once  ?  "  said  Miss  Matty,  who 
came  into  the  room  at  that  moment.  "  It 
must.be  Mr.  Campbell  who  is  consulting  you, 
aunt.  I  thought  he  would  have  asked  m7j 
advice  in  such  a  case.  I  do  believe  my 
lady  has  forgotten  that  there  ever  was  a 
time  when  she  was  not  married  and  settled, 
and  that  is  why  she  gives  you  such  cruel  ad- 
vice. Mr.  Campbell,  I  am  much  the  best 
counsellor,  and  I  beg  of  you,  don't  break  it 
off  atonce !"  said  Miss  Matty,  looking  up  in  his 
face  with  eyes  that  were  half  moclang  and 
half  pathetic.  She  knew  very  well  it  was 
herself  whom  my  lady  had  been  talking  of 
—  which  made  her  the  more  disposed  to 
send  back  the  arrow  upon  Colin.  But 
Matty,  after  all,  was  a  good  deal  discon- 
certed —  more  disconcerted  than  he  was, 
when  she  saw  the  sudden  flush  that  came  to 
Colin's  face.  Naturally,  no  woman  likes  to 
make  the  discovery  that  a  man  who  has 
once  been  her  worshipper  has  learned  to 
transfer    his  affections    to  somebody  else. 


A   SON   OP  THE   SOIL. 


201 


When  she  saw  that  this  chance  shaft  had 
touched  him,  she  herself  was  couscious  of  a 
sudden  flush  —  a  Hush  which  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  M'ith  love,  but  proceeded 
from  the  indescribable  momentary  vexation 
and  irritation  with  which  she  regarded  Co- 
lin's  desertion.  That  he  was  her  adorer  no 
longer  was  a  fact  which  she  had  consented 
to ;  but  Mss  Matty  experienced  a  natural 
movement  of  indignation  when  she  perceived 
that  he  had  elevated  some  one  else  to  the 
vacant  place.  "  Oh,  if  you  look  like  that, 
I  shall  think  it  quite  unnecessary  to  advise," 
she  said  with  a  little  spitefulness,  lowering 
her  voice. 

"  What  do  I  look  like  ?  "  said  Colin  with 
a  smile ;  for  Lady  Frankland  had  withdrawn 
to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  the  young 
man  was  perfectly  disposed  to  enter  upon 
one  of  the  half-mocking,  half-tender  conver- 
sations which  had  given  a  charm  to  his  life 
of  old. 

"  What  do  you  look  like  ? "  said  Miss 
Matty.  "  Well,  I  think  you  look  a  great 
deal  more  like  other  people  than  you  used 
to  do ;  and  I  hate  men  who  look  like  every- 
body else.  One  can  generally  tell  a  wo- 
man by  her  dress,"  said  the  young  Udy  pen- 
sively ;  "  but  most  men  that  one  meets  in 
society  want  to  have  little  labels  with  their 
names  on  them.  I  never  can  tell  any  differ- 
ence between  one  and  another  for  my  part." 

"  Then  perhaps  it  would  clear  the  haze  a 
little  if  I  were  to  name  myself,"  said  Colin. 
"  I  am  Colin  Campbell  of  Ramore,  at  your 
ladyship's  service  —  once  tutor  to  the  learn- 
ed and  witty  Charley,  that  hope  of  the  house 
of  Wodensbourne  —  and  once  also  your  lady- 
ship's humble  boatman  and  attendant  on  the 
Ploly  Loch." 

"  Fellow  of  Balliol,  double-first  —  Coming 
man,  and  reformer  of  Scotland,"  said  Miss 
Matty  with  a  laugh.  "Yes,  I  recognise 
you  ;  but  I  am  not  my  ladyship  just  yet.  I 
am  only  Matty  Frankland  for  the  moment. 
Sir  Thomas's  niece,  who  has  given  my  lady 
a  great  deal  of  trouble.  Oh,  yes ;  I  know 
what  she  was  saying  to  you.  Girls  who 
live  in  other  people's  houses  know  by  in- 
stinct what  is  being  said  about  them.  Oh, 
to  be  sure,  it  is  quite  true ;  tlaey  have  been 
very,  very  kind  to  me  ;  but  don't  you  know, 
it  is  dreadful  always  to  feel  that  people  are 
kind.  Ah  !  how  sweet  it  used  to  be  on  the 
Holy  Loch.  But  you  have  forgotten  one  of 
your  qualifications,  Mr.  Campbell ;  you  used 
to  be  poet  as  well  as  tutor.  I  think,  so  far 
as  I  was  concerned,  it  was  the  former  capac- 
ity which  you  exei'cised  with  most  applause. 
I  have  a  drawer  in  my  desk  full  of  certain 
efiusions ;  but,  I  suppose,  now  you  are   a 


Fellow  of  Balliol  yon  are  too  dignified  for 
that." 

"  I  don't  see  any  reason  why  I  should  be," 
said  Colin ;  "  I  was  a  great  deal  more  digni- 
fied, for  that  matter,  when  I  was  eighteen, 
and  a  student  at  Glasgow  College,  and  had 
very  much  more  loftly  expectations  then 
than  now." 

"  Oh,  you  always  were  devoted  to  the 
Kirk,"  said  Miss  Matty ;  "  which  was  a 
thing  I  never  could  understand  —  and  now 
less  than  ever,  when  everybody  knows  that 
a  man  who  has  taken  such  honours  as  you  ' 
have,  has  everything  open  to  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Colin ;  "  but  then  what  every- 
body knows  is  a  little  vague.  I  should  like 
to  know  of  any  one  thing  that  really  is  open 
to  me  except  taking  pupils.  Of  course," 
said  the  young  man,  with  dignity,  "my 
mind  is  made  up  long  ago,  and  my  profession 
fixed ;  but  for  the  good  of  other  people  in 
my  position  —  and  for  my  own  good  as  well," 
Colin  added  with  a  laugh  —  "  for  you  know 
it  is  pleasant  to  feel  one's  self  a  martyr,  re- 
jecting every  sort  of  advantage  for  duty's 
sake." 

"  Oh,  but  of  course  it  is  quite  true,"  said 
Matty;  "you  are  giviflg  up  everything  — 
of  course  it  is  true.  You  know  you  might 
go  into  Pai'liament,  or  you  might  go  into  the 
Church,  or  you  might  —  I  wish  you  would 
speak  to  my  uncle  about  it ;  I  suppose  he 
knows.  For  my  part,  I  think  you  should  go 
into  Parliament;  I  should  read  all  your 
speeches  faithfully,  and  always  be  on  your 
side." 

"  That  is  a  great  inducement,"  said  Colin. 
"  With  that  certainty  one  could  face  a  great  ' 
many  obstacles.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
when  I  have  settled  down  somewhere  in 
my  own  profession,  you  can  come  and  hear 
me  preach." 

"That  will  not  be  half  so  interesting," 
said  Miss  Matty,  making  a  little  vioue  of 
disdain ;  "  but,  now,  tell  me,"  she  continued, 
sinking  her  voice  to  its  most  confidential 
tone,  "what  it  was  that  made  you  look  so? 

—  you  know  we  are  very  old  friends,"  said 
Miss  Matty,  with  the  least  little  tender  touch 
of  jiathos ;  "  we  have  done  such  quantities 
of  things  together  —  rowed  on  the  Holy 
Loch,  and  walked  in  the  woods,  and  dis- 
cussed Tennyson,  and  amused  Sir  Thomas 

—  you  ought  to  tell  me  your  secrets ;  you 
don't  know  what  a  good  confidante  I  should 
be,  and  if  I  know  the  lady  —  But,  at  all 
events,  you  must  tell  me  what  made  you 
look  so  ? "  said  with  her  sweetest  tone  of 
inquisitive  sympathy,  the  siren  of  CoHn's 
youth. 

"  Perhaps  —  when    you  have    explained 


202 


to  me  what  it  moans  to  look  so,"  said  Colin ;  I 
"  after  being  buried  for  three  years  one  for-  | 
gets  that  little  language.  And  then  I  am  i 
disposed  to  deny  ever  having  looked  so,"  he  [ 
Trent  on,  laughing ;  but,  notwithstanding 
his  laugh,  Colin  was  much  more  annoyed  i 
than  became  his  reasonable  years  and  new 
dignities  to  feel  once  more  that  absurd  crim-  j 
sou  rising  to  his  hair.  The  more  he  laughed  \ 
the  higher  rose  that  guilty  and  conscious  j 
colour ;  and,  as  for  Miss  Matty,  she  pointed 
her  little  pink  finger  at  him  with  an  air  of  | 
triumph. 

"  There  ! "  she  said,  "  and  you  dare  to  pre- 
tend that  you  never  looked  so  !  I  shall  be  \ 
quite  vexed  now  if  you  don't  tell  me.  If  it 
Avas  not  something  very  serious,"  said  Miss 
Matty,  "  you  would  not  change  like  that." 

''  Here   is    Sir   Thomas ;    he   will  never 
.  accuse  me  of  looking  so,  or  changing  like  tlial 

—  and  it  is  a  guest's  first  duty  to  make  him- 
self agi'eeable  to  his  host,  is  it  not  ?  "  said 
Colin,  who  was  rather  glad  of  Sir  Thomas's 
arrival.  As  for  Matty,  she  was  conscious 
that  Lady  Frankland  had  given  her  what , 
she  would  have  called  "  a  look  "  before  leav-  ' 
ing  the  room,  and  that  her  uncle  regarded  , 
her  with  a  little  anxiety  as  he  approached. 
Decidedly,  though  she  liked  talking  to  | 
Colin,  it  was  necessary  to  be  less  confiden-  j 
tial.  "  I  won't  say  au  revoir,"  she  said, 
shrugging  her  pretty  shoulders ;  "  you  know 
what  you  said  about  that  once  upon  a  time, 
when  you  were  a  poet."  And  then  Matty 
felt  a  Uttle  sorry  for  herself  as  she  went 
away.  "  They  might  know,  if  they  had  any 
sense,  that  it  does  not  matter  in  the  least 
what  I  say  to  him,"  the  young  lady  said  to 
herself;  but  then  she  was  only  suffering  the 
natural  penalty  of  a  long  course  of  conquest, 
and  several  good  matches  sacrificed,  and 
matters  were  serious  this  time,  and  not  to 
be  trifled  with.  Miss  Matty  accordingly 
gave  up  her  researches  into  Colin's  secret ; 
but  not  the  less  regarded,  with  a  certain  de- 
gree of  lively  despite,  the  revelation  out  of 
the  clouds  of  that  unknown  woman  at 
thought  of  whom  Colin  blushed.  "  I  dare 
say  it  is  somebody  quite  stupid,  who  does 
not  understand  Mm  a  bit,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, taking  a  little  comfort  from  the  thought 

—  for  Matty  Frankland  was  not  a  model 
woman,  desiring  only  tlie  hero's  happiness  ; 
and  a  man  who  is  sufficiently  insensible  to 
console  himself  under  such  circumstances 
with  another  attachment  deserves  to  have 
his  inconstancy  punished,  as  anybody  Avill 
allow. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Colin,  though  guiltless 
of  any  breach  of  allegiance  towards  Matty, 
was  punished  sufficiently  for  his  second  at- 


A   SON   OF  THE   SOU. 


tempt- at  love.  He  had  heard  nothing  of 
Alice  all  these  three  years,  but,  notwith- 
standing, had  never  ceased  to  feel  upon  his 
neck  that  invisible  bridle  which  restrained 
him  against  his  will.  Perhaps,  if  the  woman 
of  his  imagination  had  ever  faii'ly  revealed 
hei-self,  the  sight  would  have  given  hun 
courage  to  break  for  ever  such  a  visionary 
bond,  and  to  take  possession  of  his  natural 
liberty;  but  she  contented  herself  with  wav- 
ing to  him  those  airy  salutations  out  of  the 
clouds,  and  with  now  and  then  throwing  a 
glance  at  him  out  of  the  eyes  of  some  pas- 
ser-by, who  either  disappeared  at  once  from 
his  sight,  or  turned  out  upon  examination 
to  be  utterly  unlike  that  not  impossible  She ; 
and  Colin  had  two  sentinels  to  keep  watch 
upon  his  honour  in  the  forms  of  his  mother 
and  Lauderdale,  both  of  whom  believed  in 
Love,  and  did  not  know  what  inconstancy 
meant.  lie  said  to  himself  often  enough 
that  the  struggle  in  his  heart  was  not  incon- 
stancy; but  then  he  was  not  a  man  who 
would  admit  to  them,  or  even  to  himself, 
that  the  bond  b"tween  him  and  Alice  was  a 
great  and  tender  pity,  and  not  love.  She 
had  been  on  the  eve  of  becoming  his  wife  — 
she  might  be  hia  wife  still  for  anything  he 
knew  to  the  contrary — and  Colin,  who  in 
this  respect  was  spotless  as  any  Bayard, 
would  not,  even  to  his  dearest  friends,  hu- 
miliate by  such  a  confession  the  woman  he 
had  once  sought  to  marry. 

But  now  the  time  was  almost  come  when  he 
could  in  reality  "  settle  in  life."  His  Scotch 
parish  came  nearer  and  nearer,  in  the, 
natural  course  of  affairs,  without  any  daz- 
zling obstacles  and  temptations  between  it 
and  himself,  as  he  had  once  hoped;  and 
Alice  was  of  age  by  this  time  ;  and  honour 
seemed  to  demand  that,  now  when  his  pro- 
posal really  meant  something,  he  should 
offer  to  her  the  possibility  of  confirming 
her  early  choice.  But  somehow  Colin  was 
not  at  all  anxious  to  take  this  step ;  he  hung 
back,  and  nursed  the  liberty  which  still 
remained  to  him,  and  longed,  in  spite  of 
himself,  towards  the  visionary  creature  of 
his  dreams,  who  was  not  Alice.  According- 
ly, he  had  two  rather  troublesome  matters 
to  tliink  over  at  Wodensbourne,  and  occu- 
pied a  position  which  was  made  all  the  more 
vexatious  because  it  was  at  the  same  time 
amusing  and  ridiculous.  His  mind  had  been 
made  up  from  the  beginning  as  to  his  future 
life,  as  he  truly  said ;  but  then  he  had  quite 
intended  it  to  be  a  sacrifice  which  he  made 
out  of  his  supreme  love  for  his  Church  and 
his  country.  He  meant  to  have  fought  his 
Avay  back  to  the  venerable  mother  through 
every   sort  of  brilliant  temptation,  and  to 


A   SON   OF   THE   SOIL. 


203 


cany  his  honours  to  hei*  with  a  disinterested 
love  which  he  should  prove  by  leaving  be- 
hind him  still  higher  honours  and  ambitions ; 
whereas,  in  reality,  the  world  was  permit- 
ting him  to  return  very  q-uietly  to  his  native 
country  as  if  it  was  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world.  The  disappointment  was  per- 
haps harsher  in  its  way  than  if  Colin  had 
meant  to  avail  himself  of  those  splendid 
imaginary  chances ;  and  it  did  not  make  it 
any  the  less  hard  to  bear  that  he  himself 
saw  the  humour  of  the  situation,  and  could 
not  buL  laugh  grimly  at  himself.  Perhaps 
Colin  will  suffer  in  the  opinion  of  the  read- 
ers of  this  histoiy  when  we  add  that,  not- 
withstanding the  perplexing  and  critical 
character  of  the  conjuncture,  and  notwith- 
standing the  other  complication  in  his  his- 
tory in  regard  of  Alice;  he  employed  his 
leisure  at  Wodensbourne,  after  the  interview 
we  have  recorded,  in  writing  verses  for  IMiss 
Matty.  It  was  true  she  had  challenged 
him  to  some  such  task,  but  still  it  was  un- 
doubtedly a  weakness  on  the  part  of  a  man 
with  so  much  to  think  of.  Truth,  however, 
compels  his  historian  to  confess  to  this  frivol- 
ity. As  he  strayed  about  the  flat  country, 
and  through  the  park,  the  leisure  in  which 
he  had  intended  to  think  over  his  position 
only  betrayed  him  to  this  preposterous  idle- 
ness —  for,  to  be  sure,  life  generally  arranges 
itself  its  own  way  without  much  help  from 
thinking  ;  but  one  cannot  succeed  in  writing 
a  farewell  to  a  fu-st  love,  for  whom  one 
retains  a  certain  kindness,  without  a  due 
attention  to  one's  rhymes : 


Underneath  we  give  the  last  copy  of  non- 
sense-verses which  Colin  was  seduced  into  writ- 
ing, though  the  chief  interest  they  possess  is 
chronological  as  marking  the  end  of  the  period 
of  life  in  which  a  man  can  express  himself  in 
this  medium.  As  for  Miss  Matty,  to  tell  the 
truth,  she  received  them  with  less  of  her  usual 
good  grace  than  might  have  been  desired  ;  for, 
though  in  her  own  person  she  was  perfectly  re- 
conciled to  the  loss  of  his  devotion,  and  quite 
safe  ki  entertaining  the  mildest  sentiments  of 
friendship,  still  she  was  naturally  vexed  a  little 
to  see  how  he  had  got  over  it  —  which  was 
a  thing  not  to  be  expected,  nor  perhaps  desired. 
This,  however,  was  the  calm  and  self-controlled 
tone  of  Colin's  farewell :  — 


Be  it  softly,  slowly  said, 

With  a  smile  and  with  a  sigh, 
As  life's  noiseless  hands  untie 
Links  that  youth  has  made  — 
Not  with  soiTOw  or  with  tears  : 
With  a  sigh  for  those  sweet  years 
Drawing  slow  apart  the  while  ; 
For  those  sweetest  years  a  smile. 


Thus  farewell !     The  sound  is  sweet ; 
Parting  leaves  no  sting  behind : 
One  bright  chamber  of  the  mind 
Closing  gracious  and  complete, 
Softly  shut  the  silent  door  ; 
Never  shade  can  enter  more  — 
Safe,  for  what  is  o'er  can  last ; 
Somewhat  sad,  for  it  is  past, 

•     So  farewell !     The  accents  blend 
With  sweet  sounds  of  life  to  be  j' 
Never  could  there  dawn  for  me 
Hope  of  any  dearer  end. 
Dear  it  is  atar  to  greet 
The  bright  path  before  thy  feet, 
Thoughts  that  do  thy  joy  "no  Avrong 
Chiming  -soft  the  even-song, 
Till  morn  wakes  the  bridal  bell 
Fair  and  sweet,  farewell !  farewell !  " 

and  this  was  the  sole  result,  as  far  as  any- 
body was  aware,  of  Colin's  brief  but  pleas- 
ant holiday  at  Wodensbourne. 


CHAPTER  xirv. 

It  is  so  difficult  a  matter  to  tell  the  story 
of  a  man's  life  without  wearying  the  audi- 
ence, that  we  will  make  a  leap  over  all  the 
cu'cumstances  of  Colin's  probation  in  Scot- 
land, though  they  were  sufficiently  amusing. 
For,  naturally,  the  presbytery  of  Glen-Di- 
armid  —  in  which  district  the  Holy  Loch, 
Colin's  native  parish,  is  situated  —  were  a 
little  at  a  loss  what  to  make  of  a  Fellow  of 
Balliol  when  he  oflered  himself  for  license. 
To  be  sure,  they  made  a  long  pause  over  the 
fact  of  his  Fellowship,  which  implied  that 
he  was  a  member  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land ;  but  the  presbytery  permitted  Colin  to 
be  heard  in  defence,  and  he  had  friends 
among  them,  and  had  sufficient  skill  Avith 
his  weapons  to  perplex  and  defeat  any 
rising  antagonist.  Besides,  it  was  not  in  the 
nature  of  a  country  presbytery  in  this  tol- 
erant age  to  be  otherwise  than  a  little 
proud  of  the  academical  honours  which  the 
young  neophyte  bore.  "  If  we  accept  any 
lout  who  comes  up  for  license,  and  refuse  a 
lad  of  his  attainments,  what  do  you  suppose 
the  world  will  think  of  us  ?  "  said  one  of  the 
more  enlightened  members  of  the  clerical 
court,  forgetting,  as  was  natural,  that  the 
world  concerned  itself  very  little  with  the 
doings  of  the  presbytery  of  Glen-Diarmid. 
"  It's  safe  to  leave  aU  that  to  the  objectors 
when  he  comes  to  be  placed,"  said  another 
of  Colin's  judges,  more  waiy  than  his 
brother;  "  if  he's  not  sound,  you  may  trust 
it  to  them  to  find  that  out,"  —  and  the 
young  man  was   accordingly  endued  with 


A    SON    OF   THE   SOIL. 


204 


the  prelluaiuary  privileges  of  preacher,  and 
licensed  to  exercise  his  gift.  Colin  had 
made  friends  all  along  the  road  of  his  life, 
as  some  men  are  happy  enough  to  do,  and 
had  many  who  would  have  been  pleased  to 
do  liiiu  a  service,  and  one,  as  it  happened, 
who  at  this  juncture  could  ;  and  so  it  befell 
that,  a  very  short  time  after,  the  second 
and  more  serious  trial  to  which  the  prudent 
presbyter  had  referred  came  into  the  life  of 
the  young  preacher.  He  was  presented,  as 
people  say  in  Scotland,  to  the  parish  of  Laf- 
ton,  in  the  country,  or,  as  the  natives  prefer 
to  call  it,  the  kingdom  of  Fife.  It  Avas 
a  good  living  enough,  making  up,  when  the 
harvest  was  of  average  productiveness,  and 
wheat  steady,  rather  more  than  three  hun- 
dred pounds  a  year  —  and  more  than  that 
when  the  harvest  was  bad  and  the  price  of 
corn  high ;  —  and  there  was  an  excellent 
manse,  not  much  inferior  to  an  English  par- 
sonage, and  a  compact  little  comfortable 
glebe,  of  which  a  minister  of  agricultural 
tastes  might  make  something  if  he  chose ; 
and,  above  all,  there  were  "  heritors "  of 
good  conditions,  and  a  university  town,  of 
small  dimensions  but  wealtliy  in  point  of| 
society,  within  reach  —  all  of  which  points 
seemed  to  Colin's  English  friends  a  fabulous 
conbination  of  advantages  to  be  found  in  a 
Scotch  parish.  Colin,  however,  did  not 
fully  describe  the  horrible  gulf  which  lay 
between  him  and  his  benefice  to  anybody 
out  of  Scotland  ;  for  he  was  not  the  man  to 
betray  the  imperfections  of  his  beloved 
country,  even  while  he  suffered  from  them. 
His  historian,  however,  does  not  require  to 
exercise  so  much  delicacy ;  and,  as  Colin's 
case  was  exactly  the  same  as  that  of  any 
other  young  clei-gyman  in  the  Church  of 
Scotland,  there  is  no  betrayal  of  confidence 
involved.  Between  him  and  that  haven 
there  was  a  channel  to  cross  before  which 
the  boldest  might  have  quailed.  The  parish 
of  Lafton  was  g,  large  parish,  and  there 
were  seven  hundred  and  fifty  people  in 
it  who  had  a  right  to  "object"  to  Colin. 
They  had  a  right  to  object,  if  they  liked,  to 
his  looks,  or  his  manners,  or  his  doctrines,  or 
the  colour  of  his  hair;  they  had  a  right  to 
investigate  all  his  life,  and  make  a  complaint 
at  "the  bar  of  the  presbytery"  —  which 
meant,  at  the  same  time,  in  all  the  local 
newspapers,  eager  for  any  kind  of  gossip  — 
that  he  had  once  been  guilty 'of  bird's  nesting, 
or  had  heard  the  midnight  chimes  at  some 
unguarded  moment  of  his  youth.  When 
Colin  entered  the  pulpit  for  the  first  time  in 
the  pai'ish  to  which  he  was  presented,  he 
made  his  appearance  there  not  to  instruct 
the    congregation,    but    to    be   inspected, 


watched,  judged,  and  finally  objected  to 
—  and  all  the  process  was  vigorously  en- 
forced in  his  case.  For,  to  be  sure,  there 
were  several  things  to  be  remarked  in  this 
young  man  —  or,  as  the  people  of  Lafton 
expressed  it,  "  this  new  laud  "  —  which  were 
out  of  the  way,  and  unlike  other  people. 
He  was  a  lad  that  had  not  found  Scotch 
education  good  enough  for  him,  but  had 
gone  to  England  for  at  least  part  of  his 
training.  To  be  sure,  he  had  partly  made 
up  for  this  by  taking  the  highest  honours 
possible,  and  coming  out  of  the  contest  in  a 
manner  creditable  to  Scotland  —  which  was 
a  point  in  his  favour.  And  then  his  pray- 
ers (which  was  odd,  as  Colin  was  decidedly 
a  liturgist)  were  wanting  in  those  stock  ex- 
pressions which,  more  pertinacious  than  any 
liturgy,  haunt  the  public  prayers  of  the 
ordinary  ministei-s  of  the  Church  of  Scot- 
land ;  and  his  sermons  were  short  and  inno- 
cent of  divisions,  and  of  a  tenor  totally  un- 
like what  the  respectable  parishioners  had 
been  used  to  hear.  Some  of  the  shrewder 
elders  were  of  opinion  that  this  or  that  ex- 
pression "might  mean  ony tiling" — a  con- 
clusion in  which  there  was  a  certain  truth, 
for  Colin,  as  we  have  said,  was  not  perfectly 
clear  on  all  points  as  to  what  he  believed. 
If  he  was  not  altogether  heterodox  on  the 
subject  of  eternal  punishment,  for  example, 
he  was,  to  say  the  least,  extremely  vague*, 
and,  indeed,  deserted  doctrinal  ground  al- 
together as  often  as  he  could,  and  took 
refuge  in  life  and  its  necessities  in  a  way 
which  doubtless  had  its  effect  on  the  unin- 
structed  multitude,  but  was  felt  to  be  meagre 
and  unsatisfactory  to  the  theologians  of  the 
parish.  Two  or  three  public  meetings  were 
held  on  the  subject  before  it  was  time  to 
lodge  the  final  objections  against  the  "  pres- 
entee ; "  and  Colin  himself,  who  was  living 
at  St.  Rule's,  within  a  few  miles  of  the 
theatre  of  war,  naturally  found  those  meet- 
ings, and  the  speeches  thereat,  which  ap- 
peared in  the  Fife  xirgns,  much  less  amusing 
than  an  impartial  spectator  might  have  done. 
And  then  the  same  enlightened  journal  con- 
tained all  sorts  of  letters  on  the  subject  — 
letters  in  which  "  An  Onlooker "  a  ked 
whether  the  Rev.  Mr.  Campbell,  whoswas 
pi-esentee  to  the  parish  of  Lafton,  was  the 
same  Mr.  Campbell  who  had  passed  a  spring 
at  Rome  three  or  four  year  before,  and  had 
been  noted  for  his  leaning  to  the  Papacy 
and  its  superstitious  observances  ;  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  "  A  Fife  Elder  "  implored 
the  parishioners  to  take  notice  that  the  man 
whom  an  Erastian  patron  —  not  himself 
a  member  of  the  Church,  and  perhaps  una- 
ware how  dearly  the  spiritual  privileges  pur- 


A   SON   OF  THE   SOIL. 


205 


chased  by  the  blood  of  their  martyred  fore- 
fathers are  regarded  by  Scotsmen  —  thus 
endeavoured  to  force  upon  them  was  noto- 
riously a  discijile  of  Jowett,  and  belonged 
to  the  most  insidious  school  of  modern  infi- 
delity. It  was  the  main  body  of  the  oppos- 
ing army  which  made  such  attacks;  but 
there  was  no  lack  of  skirmishers,  who  treat- 
fid  the  subject  in  a  lighter  manner,  and  ad- 
dressed the  obliging  editor  in  a  familiar 
and  playful  fashion:  —  "  Sir,  —  Having 
nothing  better  to  do  last  Sunday  morning, 
I  strayed  into  the  parish  church  of  Lafton, 
with  the  intention  of  worshipping  with  the 
congregation ;  but  you  may  judge  of  my 
surprise  when  I  observed  ascending  the  pul- 
pit-stairs a  young  gentleman  presenting  all 
the  appearance  of  a  London  swell  or  a  cav- 
alry officer,  with  a  beard  upon  which  it  was 
evident  he  had  spent  more  time  than  on  his 
sermon  "  —  wrote  a  witty  corresjX)ndent ; 
while  another  indignant  Scot  demanded 
solemnly,  "Is  it  to  be  tolerated  that  our 
very  pulpits  should  be  invaded  by  the  scum 
of  the  English  Universities,  inexperienced 
lads  that  make  a  hash  of  the  Prayer-book, 
and  preach  sermons  that  may  do  Yery  well 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Tweed,  but  won't 
go  down  here  ?  " 

Such  were  the  pleasant  effusions  with 
which  Colin's  friend  at  St.  Rule's  amused  his 
guest  at  breakfast.  They  were  very  amus- 
ing to  a  spectator  safely  established  in  the 
Elysian  fields  of  a  Scotch  professorship,  and 
beyond  the  reach  of  objections;  but  they 
were  not  amusing,  to  speak  of,  to  Colin ; 
and  the  effect  they  produced  upon  the  house- 
hold at  Ramore  may  l^e  faintly  imagined  by 
the  general  public,  as  it  will  be  vividly 
realized  by  such  Scotch  families  as  have 
sons  in  the  Church.  The  Mistress  had  said 
to  herself,  with  a  certain  placid  thankful- 
ness, "  It's  little  they  can  have  to  say  about 
my  Colin,  that  has  been  aye  the  best  and 
the  kindest."  But  when  she  saw  how  much 
could  be  made  of  nothing,  the  indignation 
of  Colin's  mother  did  not  prevent  her  from 
being  wounded  to  the  heart.  "  I  will  never 
mair  believe  either  in  justice  or  charity," 
she  said,  with  a  thrill  of  wrath  in  her  voice 
which  had  never  before  been  heard  at  Ra- 
more ;  "  him  that  was  aye  so  true  and  faith- 
ful—  him  that  has  aye  served  his  Master 
first,  and  made  no  account  of  this  world !  " 
And,  indeed,  though  his  mother's  estimate  of 
him  might  be  a  little  too  favourable,  it 
is  certain  that  few  men  more  entirely  devot- 
ed to  his  work  than  Colin  had  ever  taken 
upon  them  the  cure  of  souls.  That,  how- 
ever, was  a  matter  beyond  the  ken  of  the 
congregation  and  parish  of  Lafton.     There 


were  seven  hundred  and  fifty  communicants, 
and  they  had  been  well  trained  in  doctrine 
under  their  late  minister,  and  had  a  high 
character  for  intelligence ;  and,  when  an 
opportunity  thus  happily  arrived  for  distin- 
guishing themselves,  it  was  not  in  human 
nature  to  neglect  it.  Had  not  West  Port 
worried  to  the  point  of  extinction  three  un- 
happy men  whom  the  Crown  itself  had  suc- 
cessively elevated  to  the  unenviable  distinc- 
tion of  presentee  ?  The  Lafton  case  now 
occupied  the  newspapers  as  the  West  Port 
case  had  once  occuj^ied  them.  It  combined 
all  the  attractions  of  a  theological  contro- 
versy and  a  personal  investigation;  and,  in- 
deed, there  could  have  been  few  better 
points  of  view  for  observing  the  humours  of 
Scotch  character  and  the  peculiarities  of  ru- 
ral Scotch  society  of  the  humbler  levels; 
only  that,  as  we  have  before  said,  the  pro- 
cess was  not  so  amusing  as  it  might  have 
been  to  Colin  and  his  friends. 

"  Me  ken  Mr.  Jowett  ?  "  said  the  leading 
weaver  of  Lafton ;  "  no,  I  ken  nothing 
about  him.  I'm  no  prepared  to  say  what  he 
believes.  For  that  matter  (but  this  was 
drawn  out  by  cross-examination),  I'm  no 
just  prepared  to  say  at  a  moment's  notice 
what  I  believe  myself  I  believe  in  the 
Confession  of  Faith  and  the  Shorter  Cate- 
chism. No,  I  cannot  just  say  that  I've  ever 
read  the  Confession  of  Faith  —  but  eh,  man, 
you  ken  little  about  parish  schools  if  you 
think  I  dinna  ken  the  Catechism.  Can  I 
say  '  What  is  Effectual  Calling '  ?  I  would 
like  to  know  what  right  you  have  to  ask  me. 
I'll  say  it  at  a  proper  time,  to  them  that 
have  a  title  to  ask.  I'm  here  to  put  in  my 
objections  against  the  presentee.  I'm  no 
here  to  say  my  questions.  If  I  was,  may 
be  I  would  ken  them  better  than  you." 

"  Very  well ;  but  I  want  to  understand 
what  you  know  about  Mr.  Jowett,"  said  the 
counsel  for  the  defence. 

"  I've  said  already  I  ken  naething  about 
Mr.  Jowett.  Lord  bless  me  !  it's  no  a  man, 
it's  a  principle  we're  thinking  of.  No,  I  deny 
that ;  it's  no  an  oath.  '  Lord  bless  me  ! '  is 
a  prayer,  if  you  will  be  at  the  bottom  o't. 
We've  a'  muckle  need  to  say  that.  I  say 
the  presentee  is  of  the  Jowett  school  of  infi- 
delity ;  and  that's  the  objection  I'm  here  to 
support." 

"  But,  my  friend,"  said  a  member  of  the 
presbytery,  "it  is  necessary  that  you  should 
be  more  precise.  It  is  necessary  to  say,  you 
know,  that  Mr.  Jowett  rejects  revelation; 
that  he  " — 

"  Moderator,  I  call  my  reverend  brother 
to  order,"  said  another  minister ;  "  the  wit- 
ness is  here  to  give  evidence  about  Sir. 


206 


A   SON   OF  THE   SOIL. 


Campbell.  No  doubt  he  is  prepared  to  show 
us  how  the  presentee  has  proved  himself  to 
belong  to  the  Jowett  school." 

"Oh  ay,"  said  the  witness;  "there's 
plenty  evidence  of  that.  I  took  notes  mysel' 
of  a'  the  sermons.  Here's  one  of  them. 
It's  maybe  a  wee  in  my  ain  words,  but 
there's  nae  change  in  the  sense,  —  'My 
freends,  it's  aye  best  to  look  after  your  ain 
business :  it's  awfu'  easy  to  condemn  others. 
We're  all  the  children  of  the  Heavenly 
Father.  I  have  seen  devotion  among  a 
wheea  poor  uninstructed  Papists  that  would 
put  the  best  of  you  to  shame '  —  No,  that's 
no  what  I  was  looking  for ;  that's  the  latitu- 
dinarian  bit." 

"  I  think  it  has  been  said,  among  other 
things,"  said  another  member  of  the  presby- 
tery, "  that  Mr.  Campbell  had  a  leaning 
towards  papal  error ;  it  appears  to  me  that 
the  witness's  note  is  almost  a  proof  of  that." 

"  Moderator,"  said  Colin's  counsel,  "  I  beg 
to  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  we 
are  not  discussing  the  presentee's  leaning 
towards  papal  error,  but  his  adherence  to 
the  Jowett  school  of  infidelity,  whatever 
that  may  be.  If  the  witness  will  inform  us, 
or  if  any  of  the  members  of  the  court  will 
inform  us,  what  Mr.  Jowett  believes,  we 
will  then  be  able  to  make  some  reply  to  this 
part  of  the  case." 

"  I  dinna  ken  naething  about  INIr.  Jowett," 
said  the  cautious  witness.  "I'm  no  pre- 
pared to  enter  into  ony  personal  question. 
It's  no  the  man  but  the  principle  that  we 
are  heeding,  the  rest  of  the  objectors  and 
me." 

"  The  witness  is  perfectly  right,"  said  a 
conscientious  presbyter;  "if  we  were 
tempted  to  enter  into  personal  questions 
there  would  be  no  end  to  the  process.  My 
friend,  the  thing  for  you  to  do  in  this  deli- 
cate matter  is  to  lead  proof.  No  doubt  the 
presentee  has  made  some  statement  which 
has  led  you  to  identify  him  wit'n  Sir.  Jowett. 
He  has  expressed  some  doubts,  for  example, 
about  the  origin  of  Christianity  or  the  truth 
of  revelation  "  — 

"  Order,  order,"  cried  the  enlightened 
member ;  "  I  protest  against  such  leading 
questions.  Indeed,  it  appears  to  me,  Mod- 
erator, that  it  is  impossible  to  proceed  with 
this  part  of  the  case  unless  It  has  been  made 
clearly  apparent  to  the  court  what  Mr. 
Jowett  believes." 

Upon  which  there  naturally  ensued  a 
lively  disf'ussion  in  the  presbytery,  in  which 
the  witness  was  with  difliculty  prevented 
from  joining.  The  subject  was  without 
doubt  sufficiently  unfathomable  to  keep  half- 
a-dozen  presbyteries  occupied     and  there 


were  at  that  period,  in  the  kingdom  of  FIf-*, 
men  of  sufficient  temerity  to  pronounce  au- 
thoritatively even  upon  a  matter  so  mysteri- 
ous and  indefinite.  The  court,  however, 
adjourned  that  day  without  coming  to  any 
decision;  and  even  the  Edinbui-gh  papers 
published  a  report  of  the  Lafton  case,  which 
involved  so  many  important  interests. 
However,  an  accident,  quite  unforeseen', 
occured  in  Colin's  favour  before  the  next 
meeting  of  his  reverend  judges.  It  hap- 
pened to  one  of  these  gentlemen  to  meet 
the  great  heresiarch  himself,  who  has  been 
known  to  visit  Scotland.  This  respectable 
presbyter  did  not  ask  —  for  to  be  sure  it 
was  at  dinner  —  what  the  stranger  believed ; 
but  he  asked  him  instead  if  he  knew  Mr. 
Campljell,  the  presentee  to  Lafton,  who  had 
taken  a  first-class  at  Oxford.  If  the  answer 
had  been  too  favourable,  Colin's  fate  might 
have  been  considered  as  sealed.  "  Camp- 
bell of  Balliol  —  oh,  yes;  a  very  interest- 
ing young  man  ;  strange  compound  of  prej- 
udice and  enlightenment.  He  interested 
me  very  much,"  said  the  heresiarch :  and, 
on  that  {^'round  of  objection  at  least,  Colin 
was  saved. 

He  was  saved  on  the  others  also,  as  it 
happened,  but  more  by  accident  than  by  any 
effect  which  he  produced  on  his  reluctant 
pai'ishioners.  By  dint  of  repeated  exami- 
nations on  the  model  of  that  which  we  have 
quoted  above,  the  presbytery  came  to  the 
decision  that  the  presentee's  leaning  to  pa- 
pal error  was,  like  his  adherence  to  the  Jowett 
school  of  theology,  not  proven ;  and  they 
even  —  for  presbyteries  also  march  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  with  the  age —  declined  to  con- 
sider the  milder  accusation  brought  against 
him,  of  favouring  the  errors  of  his  namesake, 
Mr.  Campbell  of  Row.  By  this  time,  it  is 
true,  Colin  was  on  the  point  of  abandoning 
for  ever  the  Church  to  which  at  a  dis- 
tance he  had  been  willing  to  give  up  all  his 
ambitions,  and  the  Mistress  was  wound  up 
to  such  a  pitch  of  indignant  excitement  as 
to  threaten  a  serious  illness,  and  Lauderdale 
had  publically  demonstrated  his  wrath  by 
attending  "  the  English  chapel,"  as  he  said, 
"two  Sundays  running."  As  for  Colin,  in 
the  quiet  of  St.  Rule's,  feeling  like  a  culprit 
on  his  trial,  and  relishing  not  at  all  the  no- 
tion of  being  taken  to  pieces  by  the  papers, 
even  though  they  were  merely  papers  of 
Fife,  he  had  begun  to  regard  with  some  re- 
lief the  idea  of  going  back  to  Balliol  and 
reposing  on  his  Fellowship,  and  even  taking 
pupils,  if  nothing  better  came  in  his  way. 
If  he  could  have  gone  into  Pivrliament,  as 
JNIatty  Frankland  suggested,  the  indignant 
young  man  would  have  seized  violently  on 


A   SON   OF  THE   SOIL. 


that  means  of  exposing  to  the  House  and 
the  world  the  miseries  of  a  Scotch  presentee 
and  the  horrors  of  Lord  Aberdeen's  Act. 
But,  fortunately,  he  had  no  means  of  get- 
ting into  Parliament,  and  a  certain  sense  at 
the  bottom  of  his  heart  that  this  priesthood 
which  had  to  be  entered  by  a  channel  so 
painful  and  humiliating  was  in  reality  his 
true  vocation  retained  him  as  by  a  silken 
thread.  If  he  had  been  less  con-vinced  on 
this  point,  no  doubt  he  would  have  aban- 
doned the  mortifying  struggle,  and  the  par- 
ish of  Lafton,  having  whetted  its  appetite 
upon  him,  would  have  gone  freshly  to  work 
upon  another  unhappy  young  preacher,  and 
crunched  his  bones  with  equal  satisfaction  ; 
and,  what  is  still  more  important  to  us,  this  his- 
tory would  have  broken  off  abruptly  short 
of  its  fit  and  necessary  period.  None  of 
these  misfortunes  happened,  because  Colin 
had  at  heart  a  determination  to  make  him- 
self heard,  and  enter  upon  his  natural  voca- 
tion, and  because,  in  the  second  place,  he 
was  independent,  and  did  not  at  the  present 
moment  concern  himself  in  the  smallest  de- 
gree abont  the  stipend  of  the  parish,  whether 
corn  was  at  five  pounds  the  chaldron  or  five 
shillings.  To  be  sure,  it  is  contrary  to  the 
ordinary  habit  of  biography  to  represent  a 
young  clergyman  as  entering  a  parish  against 
the  will  or  with  the  dishke  of  the  inhabi- 
tants ;  as  a  general  rule  it  is  at  worst ;  an 
interested  curiosity,  if  not  a  lively  enthusi- 
asm, which  the  young  parish  priests  of  liter- 
ature find  in  their  village  churches;  but 
theu  it  is  not  England  or  Arcadia  of  which 
we  are  writing,  nor  of  an  ideal  curate  or 
spotless  primitive  vicar,  but  only  of  Colia 
Campbell  and  the  parish  of  Lafton,  in  the 
kingdom  of  Fife,  in  the  country  of  Scotland, 
under  the  beneficent  operation  of  Lord 
Aberdeen's  Act. 

However,  at  last  the  undignified  combat 
terminated.  After  the  objections  were  all 
disposed  of,  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  com- 
municants received  their  minister,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  with  the  respect  due  to  a  victor. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  touch  of  disdain  on  Colin's 
part  —  proving  how  faulty  the  young  man 
remained,  notwithstanding,  as  the  Mistress 
said,  "all  he  had  come  through" — that 
prompted  him  to  ascend  the  pulpit,  after  the 
struggle  was  over,  with  his  scarlet  hood 
glaring  on  his  black  gown  to  the  consterna- 
tion of  his  parishioners.  It  cannot  be  de- 
nied that  tins  little  movement  of  despite  was 
an  action  somewhat  unworthy  of  CoUn  at 
such  a  moment  and  in  such  a  place ;  but 
then  he  was  young,  and  it  is  difficult  for  a 
young  man  to  do  under  all  circumstances 
exactly  what  he  ought.    When  he  had  got 


207 


there  and  opened  his  mouth,  Colin  forgot  all 
about  his  scarlet  hood  —  he  forgot  they  had 
all  objected  to  him  and  put  him  in  the  pa- 
pers. He  saw  only  before  him  a  certain 
corner  of  the  world  in  which  he  had  to  per- 
form the  highest  office  that  is  confided  to 
man.  He  preached  without  thinking  he 
was  preaching,  forgetting  all  about  doc- 
trines, and  only  remembering  the  wonderful 
bewildering  life  in  which  every  soul  before 
him  had  its  share,  the  human  mysteries  and 
agonies,  the  heaven,  so  vague  and  distant, 
the  need  so  urgent  and  so  near.  In  sight  of 
these,  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  Lord 
Aberdeen's  Act,  Colin  forgot  that  he  had 
been  put  innocently  on  his  trial  and  taken 
to  pieces ;  and  what  was  still  more  strange, 
when  two  or  three  harmless  weeks  had 
passgd,  the  seven  hundred  and  fifty  com- 
municants had  clean  forgotten  it  too. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

But,  after  all,  there  are  few  trials  to 
which  a  man  of  lofty  intentions  and  an  ele- 
vated ideal  can  be  exposed,  more  severe 
than  the  entirely  unexpected  one  which 
comes  upon  him  when  he  has  had  his  way, 
and  finds  himself  for  the  first  time  In  the 
much-desired  position  in  which  he  can  carry 
out  all  the  plans  of  his  youth.  Perhaps  few 
people  arrive  so  completely  at  this  point  as 
to  acknowledge  it  distinctly  to  themselves ; 
for,  to  be  sure,  human  projects  and  devices 
have  a  knack  of  expanding  and  undergoing 
a  gradual  change  from  moment  to  moment. 
Sometliing  of  the  kind,  however,  must  ac- 
company, for  example,  every  happy  mar- 
riage ;  though  perhaps  it  is  the  woman  more 
than  the  man  who  comes  under  its  influence. 
The  beautiful  new  world  of  love  and  good- 
ness into  which  the  happy  bvlde  supposes 
herself  to  be  entering  comes  to  bear  after  a 
while  so  extraordinary  a  resemblance  to  the 
oi'dinary  mediocre  world  which  she  has 
quitted  that  the  young  woman  stands  aghast 
and  bewildered.  The  happiness  which  has 
come  has  withdrawn  a  more  subtle  happi- 
ness, that  ideal  perfection  of  being  to  which 
she  has  been  more  or  less  looking  forward 
all  her  life.  Colin,  when  he  had  gone 
through  all  his  trials,  and  had  fairly  reached- 
the  point  at  which  the  heroic  and  magnifid 
cent  existence  which  he  meant  to  live  shoul 
commence,  found  himself  very  mudh  in  th® 
same  position.  The  young  man  was  still  In 
the  fantastic  age.  To  preach  his  sermons  ev- 
ery Sunday,  and  do  his  necessary  duty,  and 


208 


A   SON   OF   THE  SOIL. 


take  advantage  of  the  good  society  at  St. 
Rule's,  did  not  seem  a  life  sufficient  for  the 
new  minister.  What  he  had  tliought  of 
was  something  impossible,  a  work  for  his 
country,  an  elevation  of  the  national  firma- 
ment, an  influence  which  should  mellow  the 
rude  goodness  of  Scotland,  and  link  her 
again  to  all  the  solemn  past,  to  all  the  good 
and  gracious  present,  to  all  the  tender  lights 
and  dawns  of  hope.  Cohn  had  derived  from 
all  the  religious  influences  with  which  he 
had  been  brought  in  contact  a  character 
which  was  perhaps  only  possible  to  a  young 
Scotchman  and  Presbyterian  strongly  an- 
chored to  his  hereditary  creed,  and  yet  feel- 
ing all  its  practical  deficiencies.  He  was 
High  Church,  though  he  smiled  at  Apostolic 
succession ;  he  was  Catholic,  though  the 
most  gorgeous  High  Mass  that  ever  was  cel- 
ebrated would  have  moved  him  no  more  than 
one  of  Verdi's  operas.  When  other  enlight- 
ened British  spectators  regarded  with  lofty 
superiority  the  poor  papist  people  coming 
and  going  into  all  the  tawdry  little  churches, 
and  singing  vespers  horribly  out  of  tune, 
Colin  for  his  part  looked  at  them  with  a 
sigh  for  his  own  country,  which  had  ceased 
to  recognise  any  good  in  such  devotion. 
And  all  through  his  education,  from  the 
moment  whgn  he  smiled  at  the  prayer-book 
under  the  curate's  arm  at  Wodensbourne, 
and  wondered  what  a  Scotch  peasant  would 
think  cf  it,  to  the  time  when  he  studied  in 
the  same  light  the  pi'electlous  of  the  Uni- 
versity preacher  In  St.  Mary's,  Colin's 
thought  had  been,  "  Would  I  were  in  the 
field."  It  appeared  to  him  that  If  he  were 
but  there,  in  all  his  profusion  of  strength 
and  youth,  he  could  breathe  a  new  breath 
Into  the  country  ho  loved.  What  he  meant 
to  do  was  to  untie  the  horrible  bands  of 
logic  and  knit  fair  links  of  devotion  ai'ound 
that  corner  of  the  universe  which  it  has 
always  seemed  possible  to  Scotsmen  to  make 
into  a  Utopia;  to  persuade  his  nation  to 
join  hands  again  with  Christendom,  to. take 
back  again  the  festivals  and  memories  of 
Christianity,  to  rejoice  in  Christmas  and 
sing  lauds  at  Easter,  and  say  common  pray- 
ers with  a  universal  voice.  These  were  to 
be  the  outward  signs ;  but  the  fact  was 
that  it  was  a  religious  revolution  in  Scot- 
land at  which  Colin  aimed.  He  meant  to 
dethrone  the  pragmatic  and  arrogant 
preacher,  whose  reign  has  lasted  so  long. 
He  meant  to  introduce  a  more  humble  self- 
estimate,  and  a  more  gracious  temper  into 
the  world  he  swayed  In  Imagination.  From 
this  dream  Colin  woke  up,  after  the  rude 
experience  of  the  objectors,  to  find  himself 
at  the  head  of  his  seven  hundred  and  fifty 


communicants,  with  authority  to  say  any- 
thing he  liked  to  them  (always  limited  by 
the  knowledge  that  they  might  at  any  time 
"  libel "  him  before  the  presbytery,  and  that 
the  presbytery  might  at  any  time  prosecute, 
judge,  and  condemn  him),  and  to  a  certain 
extent  spiritual  ruler  of  the  parish,  with  a 
right  to  do  anything  he  liked  in  it,  always 
subject  to  the  approval  of  the  Session, 
which  could  contravent  him  in  many  in- 
genious ways.  The  young  man  was  at  last 
in  the  position  to  which  he  had  looked  for- 
ward for  years  —  at  last  his  career  was  be- 
gun, and  the  course  of  his  ambition  lay 
clear  before  him.  Nothing  now  remained 
but  to  realize  all  these  magnificent  projects, 
and  carry  out  his  dreams. 

But  the  fact  is  that  Colin,  instead  of 
plunging  Inio  his  great  work,  stood  on  the 
threshold  struck  dumb  and  bewildered,  much 
as  a  bride  might  do  on  the  threshold  of  the 
new  home  which  slie  had  looked  forward  to 
as  something  superior  to  Paradise.  The 
position  of  his  dreams  was  obtained,  but 
these  dreams  had  never  till  now  seemed  ac- 
tually hopeless  and  preposterous.  When 
he  took  his  place  up  aloft  In  his  high  pulpit, 
from  which  he  regarded  his  people  much  as 
a  man  at  a  first-floor  window  might  regard 
the  passers-by  below,  and  watched  the  ruddy 
countrymen  pouring  in  with  their  hats  on 
their  heads  and  a  noise  like  thunder,  the 
first  terrible  blow  was  struck  at  his  palace* 
of  fancy.  They  were  diSerent  altogether 
from  the  gaping  rustics  at  Wodensbourne, 
to  whom  that  good  little  curate  preached 
harmless  sermons  out  of  his  low  desk,  about 
the  twenty-first  Sunday  after  Trinity,  and 
the  admirable  arrangements  of  the  Church. 
Colin  upstairs  at  his  first-floor  window  was 
in  no  harmless  position.  He  was  put  up 
there  for  a  certain  business,  which  the  au- 
dience down  below  understood  as  well  as  be 
did.  As  for  prayers  and  psalm-singing, 
they  were  necessary  preliminaries  to  be  got 
over  as  quickly  as  possible.  The  congrega- 
tion listened  and  made  internal  criticisms 
as  the  young  minister  said  his  prayers. 
"  He's  awfu'  limited  In  his  confessions,"  one 
of  the  elders  whispered  to  another.  "I 
canna  think  he's  fathomed  the  nature  o'  sin, 
for  my  part ; "  and  Colin  was  conscious  by 
something  in  the  atmosphere,  by  a  certain 
hum  and  stir,  that,  though  his  people  were  a 
little  grateful  to  find  his'first  attempt  at  de- 
votion shorter  than  usual,  a  second  call  up- 
on them  was  regarded  Avith  a  certain  dis- 
pleased surprise ;  for,  to  be  sure,  the  late 
minister  of  Lafton  had  been  of  the  old  school. 
And  then,  this  inevitable  preface  having 
been  disposed  of,  the  congregation  settled 


A   SON   OF   THE   SOIL. 


209 


down  quietly  to  the  business  of  the  day. 
Colin  was  young,  and  had  kept  his  youthful 
awe  of  the  great  mysteries  of  faith,  though 
he  was  a  minster.  It  struck  him  with  a  sort 
of  panic  —  when  he  looked  down  upon  all 
those  attentive  faces,  and  recalled  to  himself 
the  idea  that  he  was  expected  to  teach  them, 
to  throw  new  light  upon  all  manner  of  doc- 
trines, and  open  up  the  Bible,  and  add  addi- 
tional surety  to  the  assurance  already  pos- 
sessed by  the  audience  — that  it  was  a  very 
well-instructed  congregation  and  knew  all 
about  the  system  of  Christian  theology.  It 
gleamed  upon  Colin  in  that  terrible  moment 
that,  instead  of  being  a  predestined  reformer, 
he  was  a  very  poor  pretender  indeed,  and  to- 
tally inadequate  to  the  duties  of  the  post 
which  he  had  taken  upon  him  thus  rashly ; 
for,  indeed,  he  was  not  by  any  means  so 
clear  as  most  of  his  hearers  were  about  the 
system  of  theology.  This  sudden  sense  of 
incapacity,  which  came  upon  him  at  the 
very  moment  when  he  ought  to  have  been 
strongest,  was  a  terrible  waking  up  for  Co- 
lin. He  preached  his  sermon  afterwards, 
but  with  pale  lips  and  a  heart  out  of  which 
all  the  courage  seemed  to  have  died  for  the 
moment ;  and  betook  himself  to  his  manse 
afterwards  to  think  it  all  over,  with  a  horri- 
ble sense  overpowering  aU  his  faculties  that, 
after  all,  he  was  a  sham  and  impostor,  and 
utterly  unworthy  of  exercising  influence  up- 
on any  reasonable  creature.  For,  to  be 
sure,  though  a  lofty  ideal  is  the  best  thing 
in  the  world,  according  to  its  elevation  is 
the  pain  and  misery  of  the  fall. 

The  consequence  was  that  Colin  stopped 
short  in  a  kind  of  fright  after  he  had  made 
his  first  discovery,  and  that,  after  all  his 
great  projects,  nothing  in  the  world  was 
heard  all  that  winter  of  the  young  reformer. 
To  return  to  our  metaphor,  he  was  silent  as 
a  young  wife  sometimes  finds  herself  among 
the  relics  of  her  absui'd  youthful  fancies, 
contemplating  the  ruin  ruefully,  and  not 
yet  fully  awakened  to  the  real  possibilities 
of  the  posiuon.  During  this  little  interval 
he  came  gradually  down  out  of  his  too  lofty 
ideas  to  consider  the  actual  circumstances. 
When  Lauderdale  came  to  see  him,  which  he 
did  on  the  occasion  of  the  national  new-year 
holiday,  Colin  took  his  friend  to  see  his  church 
with  a  certain  comic  despair.  "  I  have  a 
finer  chancel  than  that  at  Wodensbourne, 
which  was  the  curate's  object  in  life,"  said 
Cc^in ;  "  but,  if  I  made  any  fuss  about  it, 
1  should  be  set  do^vn  as  an  idiot ;  and,  if  any 
man  has  an  imagination  sufficiently  lively  to 
conceive  of  your  ploughmen  entei'ing  my 
church  as  our  poor  friends  went  into  the 
Pantheon" — 

14 


"  Dinna  be  unreasonable,"  said  Lauder- 
dale. "  You  were  aye  awfu'  fantastic  in  your 
notions ;  what  should  the  honest  men  ken 
about  a  chancel?  I  wouldna  say  that  I'm 
just  clear  on  the  subject  mysel'.  As  for  the 
Pantheon,  that  was  aye  an  awfu' delusion  on 
your  part.  Our  cathedral  at  Glasgow  is  an 
awfu'  deal  mair  Christian-like  than  the  Pan- 
theon, as  far  as  I  can  judge  ;  but  I  wouldna 
say  that  it's  an  idea  that  ever  enters  my 
head  to  go  there  for  my  ain  hand  to  say  my 
prayers ;  and,  as  for  a  country  kirk  with 
naked  pews  and  cauld  stone  "  — 

"  Look  at  it,"  said  Colin  with  an  air  of 
disgust  which  was  comprehensible  enough 
in  a  Fellow  of  Balliol.  The  church  of  Laf- 
ton  was  worth  looking  at.  It  illustrated  with 
the  most  wonderful,  almost  comic,  exactness 
two  distinct  historic  periods.  At  one  end  of 
it  was  a  wonderful  Norman  chancel,  gloomy 
but  magnificent,  with  its  heavy  and  solemn 
arches  almost  as  perfect  as  when  they  were 
completed.  This  chancel  had  been  united 
to  a  church  of  later  date  (long  since  demol- 
ished) by  a  lighter  and  loftier  pointed  arch, 
which  however,  under  Colin's  incumbency, 
was  filled  up  with  a  partition  of  wood,  in 
which  there  was  a  little  door  giving  admis- 
sion to  the  church  proper,  the  native  and 
modern  expression  of  ecclesiastical  necessi- 
ities  in  Scotland.  This  edifice  was  like  no- 
thing so  much  as  a  square  box,  encircled  by 
a  level  row  of  windows  high  up  in  the  wall, 
so  many  on  each  side;  and  there  it  was  that 
Colin's  lofty  pulpit,  up  two ,  pairs  of  stairs, 
rigidly  and  nakedly  surveyed  the  rigorous 
lines  of  naked  pews  which  traversed  the  un- 
lovely area.  Colin  regarded  this  scene  of 
his  labours  with  a  disgust  so  melancholy,  yet 
so  comical,  that  his  companion,  though  not 
much  given  to  mirth,  gave  forth  a  laugh 
which  rang  into  the  amazed  and  sombre 
echoes. 

"  Yes,  it  is  easy  enough  to  laugh,"  said 
Colin,  who  was  not  without  a  sense  of  the 
comic  side  of  his  position;  "but,  if  it  was 
your  own  church  "  — 

"  Whisht,  callant,"  said  Lauderdale,  whose 
amusement  was  momentary ;  "  if  I  had  ever 
come  to  onything  in  this  world,  and  had  a 
kirk,  I  wouldna  have  been  so  fanciful.  It's 
weI4  for  you  to  get  your  lesson  written  out 
so  plain.  There's  nae  place  to  speak  of 
here  for  the  prayers  and  the  thanksgivings. 
r  m  no  saying  but  what  they  are  the  best, 
but  that's  no  our  manner  of  regarding  things 
in  Scotland.  Even  the  man  that  has  mais 
set  his  heart  on  a  revolution  must  aye  be 
gin  with  things  as  they  are.  This  is  no'  a 
place  open  at  a'  times  to  every  man  that  has 
a  word  to  say  to  God  in  quietness,  like  yon 


210 


A   SON   OF   THE   SOIL. 


Catholic  chapels.  It's  a  place  for  preachhig ; 
and  you  maun  preach." 

"  Preach  ! "  said  Colin  ;  "  what  am  I  to 
preach  ?  What  I  have  learned  Eere  and 
there,  in  Dlchopftenburg  for  example,  or  In 
the  Divinity  Hall  ?  and  much  the  better 
they  would  all  be  for  that.  Besides,  I  don't 
believe  In  preaching,  Lauderdale.  Preach- 
ing never  did  me  the  least  service.  As  for 
that  beastly  pulpit  perched  up  thei-e,  all 
wood  and  noise  as  it  is "  —  but  here  Colin 
paused,  overcome  by  the  weight  of  his  dis- 
content, and  the  giddiness  natural  to  his  ter- 
rible fall. 

"  Well, '  said  Lauderdale,  after  a  pause, 
"  Pm  no  saying  but  what  there's  some  jus- 
tice in  what  you  say  ;  but  I  would  like  to 
hear,  with  your  ideas,  what  you're  meaning 
to  do." 

To  which  Colin  answered  with  a  groan. 
"  Preach,"  he  said  gloomily  ;  "  there  is  no- 
thing else  I  can  do  :  preach  them  to  death, 
I  suppose :  preach  about  everything  in 
heaven  and  earth ;  it  is  all  a  priest  is  good 
for  here." 

"  Ay,"  said  Lauderdale  ;  "  and  then  the 
worst  o't  it  is  that  you're  no  a  priest,  but 
only  a  minister.  I  wouldna  say,  however, 
but  what  you  might  pluck  up  a  heart  and  go 
into  the  singing  business,  and  maybe  have  a 
process  In  the  presbytery  about  an  organ ; 
that's  the  form  that  reformation  takes  In  our 
kirk,  especially  with  young  ministers  that 
have  travelled  and  cultivated  their  minds, 
like  you.  But,  Colin,"  said  the  philosopher, 
"  you've  been  in  more  places  than  the  Di- 
vinity Hall.  There  was  once  a  time  when 
you  were  awfu'  near  dying,  if  a  man  daur 
say  the  truth  now  It's  a'  past ;  and  there  was 
once  a  bit  little  cham'er  out  yonder,  between 
heaven  and  earth." 

Out  yonder.  Lauderdale  gave  a  little 
jerk  with  his  hand,  as  he  stood  at  the  open 
door,  across  the  grey,  level  country  which 
lay  between  the  parish  church  of  Lal'ton  and 
the  sea ;  and  the  words  and  the  gesture  con- 
veyed Colin  suddenly  to  the  lighted  window 
that  shone  feebly  over  the  campagna,  and 
to  the  talk  within  over  Meredith's  deathbed. 
The  recollection  brought  a  wonderful  change 
over  his  thoughts.  He  took  his  friend's  arm 
in  silence,  when  he  had  locked  the  door. 
"  I  wonder  what  he  is  doing,"  said  Colin. 
"  I  wonder  whether  the  reality  has  fallen 
short  of  the  expectation  there.  If  there 
should  be  no  golden  gates  or  shining  streets 
as  yet,  but  only  another  kind  of  life  with 
other  hopes  and  trials !  If  one  could  but 
know  ! " 

"  Ay,"  said  Lauderdale,  in  a  tone  that  Col- 
in knew  so  well ;  and  then  there  was  a  long 


pause.  "  I'm  no  saying  but  what  it's  natu- 
ral," said  the  philosopher.  "It's  aye  awfu' 
hard  upon  a  man  to  get  his  ain  way  ;  but 
once  in  a  while  there's  one  arises  that  can  take 
the  good  of  all  that.  You'll  no  make  Scotland 
of  your  way  of  thinking,  Colin ;  but  you'll 
make  it  worth  her  Avhile  to  have  brought  ye 
forth  for  a'  that.  As  for  Arthur,  poor  c'al- 
lant,  I  wouldna  say  but  that  his  ideal  may 
have  changed  a  wee  on  the  road  there.  I'm 
awfu'  indifferent  to  the  shining  streets  for 
my  part;  but  I'm  no  indllTercnt  to  them 
that  bide  yonder  in  the  silence,"  said  Laud- 
erdale, and  then  he  made  another  pause. 
"  There  was  one  now  that  wasna  in  your 
case,"  he  went  on  ;  "  he  was  aye  pleased  to 
teach  in  season  and  out  of  season.  For  the 
sake  of  the  like  of  him,  I'm  whiles  moved  to 
hope  that  a's  no  so  awfu'  perfect  in  the  other 
world  as  we  think.  I  canna  see  ony  ground 
for  it  in  the  Bible.  Naething  ever  comes  to 
an  end  in  this  world,  callant ;  —  and  that 
was  just  what  I  was  meaning  to  ask  in  res- 
pect to  other  things." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  other 
things,"  said  Colin  ;  "  that  is,  if  you  mean 
Miss  Meredith,  Lauderdale,  I  have  heard 
nothing  of  her  for  years.  That  must  be  con- 
cluded" to  come  to  have  an  end  if  anything 
ever  did.  It  is  not  for  me  to  subject  myself  to 
rejection  any  more." 

Upon  which  Lauderdale  breathed  out  a 
long  breath  wliich  sounded  like  a  sigh,  and 
was  visible  as  well  as  audible  in  the  frosty 
air.  "  It's,  aye  weel  to  have  your  lesson  writ- 
ten so  plain,"  he  said  after  a  minute  with 
that  want  of  apparent  sequence  which  was 
sometimes  amusing  and  sometimes  irritating 
to  Colin ;  "  it's  nae  disgrace  to  a  man  to  do 
his  work  under  strange  conditions.  When 
a  lad  like  you  has  no  place  to  work  in  but  a 
pulpit,  It's  clear  to  me  that  God  intends  him 
to  preach  whether  he  likes  it  no." 

And  this  was  all  the  comfort  Colin  re- 
ceived, In  the  midst  of  his  disenchantment 
and  discouragement,  from  his  dearest  friend. 

But  before  the  winter  was  over  life  had 
naturally  asserted  its  rights  in  the  minds  of 
the  young  minister.  He  had  begun  to  stretch 
out  his  hands  for  his  tools  almost  without 
knowing  it,  and  to  find  that  after  all  a  man 
in  a  pulpit,  although  he  has  two  flights  of 
stairs  to  ascend  to  it,  has  a  certain  pow- 
er in  his  hand.  Cohu  found  eventually, 
when  he  opened  his  eyes,  that  he  had  after 
all  a  great  deal  to  say,  and  that  even  in  one 
hour  in  a  week  it  was  possible  to  convey 
sundry  new  ideas  into  the  rude,  but  not  stu- 
pid, minds  of  his  parishioners.  A  great 
many  of  them  had  that  impracticable  and 
hopeless  amount  of  intelligence  natural  to  a 


A   SON   OF   THE   SOIL. 


211 


well  brouglit-up  Scotcli  peasant,  with  opi- 
nions upon  theological  matters  and  a  lofty 
estimate  of  his  own  powers ;  but  withal 
there  were  many  minds  open  and  thought- 
ful as  s Hence,  and  the  fields,  and  much  ob- 
servation of  the  operations  of  nature,  could 
make  them.  True,  there  were  all  the  dis- 
advantages to  be  encountered  in  Lafton 
which  usually  exist  in  Scotch  parishes  of  the 
present  generation.  There  was  a  free  church 
at  the  other  end  of  the  parish  very  well  fill- 
ed, and  served  by  a  minister  who  was  much 
more  clear  in  a  doctrinal  point  of  view  than 
Colin ;  and  the  heritors,  for  the  most  part  — 
that  is  to  say,  the  land-owners  of  the  parish  — 
though  they  were  pleased  to  ask  a  Fellow 
of  Balliol  to  dinner,  and  to  show  him  a  great 
deal  of  attention,  yet  drove  placidly  past 
his  church  every  Sunday  to  the  English 
chapel  in  St.  Rule's ;  which  is  unhappily  the 
general  fortune  of  the  National  Church  in 
Scotland.  It  was  on  this  divided  world  that 
Colin  looked  from  his  high  pulpit,  where,  at 
least  for  his  hour,  he  had  the  privilege  of 
saying  what  he  pleased  without  any  contra- 
diction ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  after 
a  while  the  kingdom  of  Fife  grew  conscious 
to  its  extremity  tbat  in  the  eastern  corner  a 
man  had  arrived  who  had  undoubtedly  some- 
thing to  say.  As  his  popularity  began  to  rise, 
Colin's  ambitions  crept  back  to  his  heart 
one  by  one.  He  preached  the  strangest  sort 
of  baffling,  unorthodox  sermons,  in  which, 
however,  when  an  adverse  critic  took  notes, 
there  was  found  to  be  nothing  upon  which 
in  these  days  he  could  be  brought  to  the  bar 
of  the  presbytery.  Thirty  years  ago,  indeed, 
matters  were  otherwise  regulated  ;  but  even 
presbyteries  have  this  advantage  over  popes, 
that  th(?y  do  take  a  step  forward  occasion- 
ally to  keep  in  time  with  their  age. 

This  would  be  the  proper  point  at  which 
to  leave  Colin,  if  there  did  nx)t  exist  certain 
natural,  human  prejudices  on  the  subject 
which  require  a  distinct  conclusion  of  one 
kind  or  another.  Until  a  man  is  dead,  it  is 
impossible  to  say  what  he  has  done,  or  to 
make  any  real  estimate  of  his  work;  and 
Colin,  so  far  from  being  dead,  is  only  as  yet 
at  the  commencement  of  his  career,  having 
taken  the  first  steps  with  some  success  and 
eclat,  and  ha'ving  recovered  the  greater  part 
of  his  enthusiasm.  There  was,  indeed,  a 
time  w!ien  his  friends  expected  nothing  else 
for  him  than  that  early  and  lovely  ending 
which  makes  a  biography  perfect.    There  is 


only  one  other  ending  in  life,  which  is  equal- 
ly satisfactory,  and,  at  least  on  the  face  of 
it,  more  cheerful  than  dying ;  and  that,  we 
need  not  say,  is  marriage.  Accordingly,  as 
it  is  impossible  to  pursue  his  course  to  the 
one  end,  all  that  we  can  do  is  to  turn  to  the 
other,  which,  though  the  hero  himself  was 
not  aware  of  it,  was  at  that  moment  shadow- 
ing slowly  out  of  the  morning  clouds. 

It  is  accordingly  with  a  feeling  of  relief 
that  we  turn  from  the  little  ecclesiastical 
world  of  Scotland,  where  we  dare  not  put 
ourselves  in  too  rigorous  contact  with  reality, 
or  reveal  indiscreetly,  without  regard  to  the 
sanctity  of  individual  confidence,  what  Col- 
in is  doing,  to  the  common  open  air  and  day- 
light, in  which  he  set  out,  all  innocent  and 
unfearing,  on  a  summer  morning,  accompa- 
nied as  of  old  by  Lauderdale,  iipon  a  holiday 
voyage.  He  had  not  the  remotest  idea,  any 
more  than  the  readers  of  lijs  history  have  at 
this  moment,  what  was  to  happen  to  him  be- 
fore he  came  back  again.  He  set  out  with 
all  his  revolutionary  ideas  in  his  mind,  with- 
out pausing  to  think  that  circumstances 
might  occur  which  would  soften  down  all  in- 
surrectionary impulses  on  his  part,  and  pre- 
sent him  to  the  alarmed  Church,  not  under 
the  aspect  of  an  irresistible  agitator  and  re- 
former, but  in  the  subdued  character  of  a 
man  who  has  given  hostages  to  society.  Col- 
in had  no  thought  of  this  downfall  in  his  im- 
agination when  he  set  out.  He  had  even 
amused  himself  with  the  idea  of  a  new  series 
of  "  Tracts  for  the  Times,"  whch  might  per- 
adventure  work  as  much  commotion  in  the 
Church  of  Scotland  as  the  former  series  had 
done  in  the  Anglican  communion.  He  went 
off  in  full  force  and  energy  with  the  draft  of 
the  first  of  these  revolutionary  documents  in 
the  writing-case  in  which  he  had  once  cop- 
ied out  his  verses  for  Alice  Meredith.  Poor 
Ahce  Meredith!  The  bridle  which  Colin 
had  once  felt  on  his  neck  had  worn  by  this 
time  to  such  an  impalpable  thread  that  he 
was  no  longer  aware  of  its  existence ;  and 
even  the  woman  in  the  clouds  had  passed 
out  of  his  recollection  for  the  moment,  so 
much  was  he  absorbed  with  the  great  work 
he  had  embarked  on.  Thus  he  set  out  on  a 
pedestrian  excursion,  meaning  to  go  to  the  " 
English  lakes,  and  it  is  hard  to  say  where 
besides,  in  his  month's  holiday  ;  and  nothing 
in  the  air  or  in  the  skies  gave  any  notice  to 
Colin  of  the  great  event  that  was  to  befall 
him  before  he  could  return. 


212 


A     SON     OF     THE     SOIL. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 


It  was,  as  we  have  said,  a  lovely  summer 
morning  when  Colin  set  out  on  his  excur- 
sion, after  the  fatigues  of  the  winter  and 
spring.  His  first  stage  was  naturally  Ra- 
more,  where  he  arrived  the  same  evening, 
having  picked  up  Lauderdale  at  Glasgow 
on  his  way.  A  more  beautiful  evening  had 
never  shone  over  the  Holy  Loch  ;  and,  as 
the  two  friends  approached  Ramore,  all  the 
western  sky  was  Haming  behind  the  dark 
hills,  which  stood  up  in  austere  shadow, 
shutting  out  from  the  Loch  and  its  immedi- 
ate banks  the  later  glories  ^f  the  sunset. 
To  leave  the  eastern  shore,  where  the  light 
still  lingered,  and  steal  up  under  the  shadow 
into  the  soft  beginning  of  the  twilight,  with 
Ramore,  that "  shines  where  it  stands,"  look- 
ing out  hospitably  from  the  brae,  was  like 
leaving  the  world  of  noise  and  commotion 
for  the  primitive  life,  with  its  silence  and  its 
thoughts;  and  so,  indeed,  Colin  felt  it, 
though  his  world  was  but  another  country 
parish,  primitive  enough  in  its  ways.  But 
then  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  there  is  a 
difference  between  the  kingdom  of  Fife, 
where  wheat  grows  golden  on  the  broad 
fields,  and  where  the  herrings  come  up  to 
the  shore  to  be  salted  and  packed  in  barrels, 
and  the  sweet  Loch  half  liiddeu  among  the 
hills,  where  the  cornfields  arc  scant  and  few, 
and  where  grouse  and  heather  divide  the 
country  with  the  beasts  and  the  pastures, 
and  where,  in  short,  Gaelic  was  spoken 
within  the  memory  of  man.  Perhaps  there 
was  something  of  the  vanity  of  youth  in  that 
look  of  observation  and  half  amused,  half 
curious  ci'iticism  which  the  young  man  cast 
upon  the  peaceful  manse,  where  the  minis- 
ter, who  had  red  hair,  had  painfully  begun 
his  career  when  Colin  himself  was  a  boy. 
It  was  hard  to  believe  that  anything  ever 
could  happen  in  that  calm  house,  thus  refpos- 
ing  among  its  trees,  with  only  a  lawn  be- 
tween it  and  the  church,  and  looking  as 
peaceful  and  retired  and  silent  as  the 
church  itself  did.  It  is  true  Colin  knew 
very  well  that  things  both  bitter  and  joyful 
had  happened  there  within  his  own  recollec- 
tion ;  but  that  did  not  prevent  the  thought 
striking  him,  as  he  glided  past  in  the  little 
bustling  steamer,  which  somehow,  by  the 
contrast,  gave  a  more  absolute  stillness  to 
the  pretty  rural  landscape.  Perhaps  the 
minister  was  walking  out  at  that  moment, 
taking  his  peaceful  stroll  along  the  de\ry 
road,  —  a  man  whose  life  was  all  fixed  and 
settled  long  ago,  to  whom  nothing  could 
ever  happen  in  his  own  person,  and  whose 


}  life  consisted  In  a  repetition  over  and  over 
of  the  same  things,  the  same  thoughts,  pretty 
I  nearly  the  same  words.  To  be  sure,  he  had 
a  wife,  and  children,  and  domestic  happi- 
ness ;  but  Colin,  at  his  time  of  life,  made  but 
a  secondary  account  of  that.  He  looked  at 
]  the  manse  accordingly.-  with  a  smile  as  he 
,  passed  on  out  of  sight.  The  manse  of  Laf- 
I  ton  was  not  nearly  so  lovely,  but  —  it  was 
different ;  though  perhaps  he  could  not  have 
told  how.  And  the  same  thought  was  in 
his  mind  as  he  went  on  past  all  the  tranquil 
houses.  How  did  they  manage  to  keep  ex- 
isting, those  people  for  whom  life  was  over, 
who  had  ceased  to  look  beyond  the  day,  or 
to  anticipate  either  good  or  evil?  To  be 
sure  this  was  very  unreasonable  musing; 
for  Colin  was  aware  that  things  did  happen 
now  and  then  on  the  Holy  Loch.  Some- 
body died  occasionally,  when  it  was  impos- 
sible to  help  it,  and  by  turns  somebody  was 
born,  and  there  even  occurred,  at  rare  inter- 
vals, a  marriage,  with  its  suggestion  of  life 
beginning ;  but  these  domestic  incidents 
were  not  what  he  was  thinking  of.  Life 
seemed  to  be  in  its  quiet  evening  over  all 
that  twilight  coast ;  and  then  it  was  the 
morning  with  Colin,  and  it  did  not  seem 
possible  for  him  to  exist  without  the  hopes, 
and  motives,  and  excitements  which  made 
ceaseless  movement  and  commotion  In  his 
soul.  To  be  sure,  he  too  was  only  a  coun- 
try minister,  and  was  expected  to  live  and 
die  among  "  his  people  "  as  peaceably  as  his 
prototype  was  doing  on  the  Holy  Loch ; 
and  this  thought  somehow  it  was  that,  fall- 
ing into  his  mind  like  a  humorous  sugges- 
tion, made  Colin  smile ;  for  his  ideas  did  not 
take  that  peacefid  turn  at  this  period  of  his 
existence.  He  was  so  full  of  what  had  to 
be  done,  even  of  what  he  himself  hf^d  to  do, 
that  the  silence  seemed  to  recede  before  him, 
and  to  rustle  and  murmur  round  him  as  he 
carried  into  it  his  conscious  and  restless  life. 
He  had  even  such  a  wealth  of  existence  to 
dispose  of  that  it  kept  flowing  on  in  two  or 
three  distinct  channels,  a  thing  which 
amused  him  when  he  thought  of  it.  For 
underneath  all  this  sense  of  contrast,  and 
Lauderdale's  talk,  and  his  own  watch  for  the 
Ramore  boat,  and  his  mother  at  the  door, 
No.  1  of  the  Tracts  for  the  Times  was  at  the 
same  time  shaping  itself  in  Colin's  brain ;  and 
there  are  moment?  -when  a  man  can  stand 
apart  fi-om  himself,  and  note  what  Is  going 
on  in  his  own  mind.  He  was  talking  to 
Lauderdale,  and  greeting  the  old  friends 
who  recognised  him  in  the  boat,  and  looking 
out  for  home,  and  planning  his  tract,  and 
making  that  contrast  between  the  evening, 
and  the  morning  all  at  the  same  moment. 


A     SON     OF     THE     SOIL. 


213 


And  at  the  same  time  lie  had  taken  off  the 
front  of  his  mental  habitation,  and  was 
looking  at  all  those  different  processes  going 
on  in  its  different  compartments  with  a  cu- 
rious sense  of  amusement.  Such  were  the 
occupations  of  his  mind  as  he  went  up  to  the 
Loch,  to  that  spot  where  the  Kamore  boat 
lay  waiting  on  the  rippled  surface.  It  was 
a  diSerent  homecoming  from  any  that  he 
had  ever  made  before.  Formerly  bis  pros- 
pects were  vague,  and  it  never  was  quite 
certain  what  he  might  make  of  himself. 
Now  he  had  fulfilled  all  the  ambitions  of  his 
family,  as  far  as  his  position  went.  There 
was  nothing  more  to  hope  for  or  to  desire  in 
that  particular;  and,  naturally,  Colin  felt 
that  his  influence  with  his  father  and  broth- 
ers at  least  would  be  enhanced  by  the  reali- 
zation of  those  hopes,  which,  up  to  this  time, 
had  always  been  mingled  with  a  little  un- 
certainty. He  forgot  all  about  that  when 
he  grasped  the  hands  of  Archie  and  of  the 
farmer,  and  dashed  up  the  brae  to  where  the 
]\Iistres3  stood  wistful  at  the  door ;  but,  not- 
withstanding, there  was  a  difference,  and  it 
was  one  which  was  sufliciently  apparent  to 
all.  As  for  his  mother,  she  smoothed  down 
the  sleeve  of  his  black  coat  with  her  kind 
hand,  and  examined  with  a  tender  smile  the 
cut  of  the  waistcoat  which  Colin  had  brought 
from  Oxford  —  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  he 
had  still  a  stolen  inclination  for  "  mufti,"  and 
wore  his  uniform  only  when  a  solemn  occa- 
sion occurred  like  this,  and  on  grand  parade  ; 
but,  for  all  her  joy  and  satisfaction  at  sight 
of  him,  the  Mistress  still  looked  a  little  shat- 
tered and  broken,  and  had  never  forgotten 

—  though  Colin  had  forgotten  it  long  ago  — 
the  "  objections  "  of  the  parish  of  Lafton,  and 
all  that  her  son  had  had  "  to  come  through," 
as  she  said,  "  before  he  was  placed." 

"  I  suppose  a's  weel  now  ?  "  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell said.  "  No  that  I  could  have  any  doubts 
in  my  own  mind,  so  far  as  you  were  con- 
cerned ;  but,  the  mair  experience  a  person 
has,  the  less  hope  they  have  in  other  folk 

—  though  that's  an  awfu'  thing  to  say,  and 
gangs  against  Scripture.  Me  that  thought 
there  was  not  a  living  man  that  could  say  a 
word  of  blame  to  my  Colin  !  And  to  think 
of  a'  the  lees  that  were  invented.  His  fa- 
ther there  says  it's  a  necessary  evil,  and  that 
we  maun  have  popular  rights ;  but  for  me 
I  canna  see  the  necessity.  I'm  no  for  doing 
evil  that  good  may  come,"  said  the  Mistress  ; 
"  it's  awfu'  papistry  that  —  and  to  worry  a 
poor  callant  to  death,  and  drive  a'  thart  be- 
longs to  him  out  o'  their  wits  —  " 

"  He's  not  dead  yet,"  said  the  farmer, 
"  nor  me  out  of  my  ordinary.  I'll  not  say 
it's  pleasant;  but   so  long  as  they  canna 


allege  onything  against  a  man's  morality 
I'm  no  so  mucli  heeding;  and  it's  a  poor 
kind  of  thing  to  be  put  in  by  a  patron  that 
doesna  care  a  pin,  and  gangs  to  another 
kirk." 

"  I'm  awfu'  shaken  in  my  mind  about 
that,"  said  the  Mistress  ;  "  there's  the  Free 
Kirk  folk  —  though  I'm  no  for  making  an 
example  of  them  —  fighting  among  them- 
selves about  their  new  minister,  like  th4e 
puir  senseless  creatures  in  America.  Tha- 
mas,  at  the  IVIill-head,  is  for  the  ane  candi- 
date, and  his  brother  Dugald  for  the  tither ; 
and  they're  like  to  tear  each  other's  eeu  out 
when  they  meet.  That's  ill  enough,  but 
Lafton's  waur.  I'm  no  for  setting  up  priests, 
nor  making  them  a  sacerdotal  caste  as  some 
folk  say ;  but  will  you  tell  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Campbell,  indignantly,  "  that  a  wheen  igno- 
rant weavers  and  canailye  like  that  can 
judge  my  CoUn  ?  ay,  or  even  if  it  was  thae 
Fife  farmers  driving  in  their  gigs.  I  would 
like  to  ken  what  he  studied  for  and  took  a' 
thae  honours,  and  gave  baith  time  and  sil- 
ler, if  he  wasna  to  ken  better  than  the  like 
of  them.  I'm  no  pretending  to  meddle 
with  politics  that  are  out  of  my  way  —  but 
I  canna  shut  my  een,"  the  Mistress  said,  em- 
phatically. "  The  awfu'  business  is  that  we've 
nae  respect  to  speak  of  for  onything  but 
ourselves ;  we're  so  awfu'  fond  of  our  ain  bit 
poor  opinions,  and  the  little  we  ken.  K 
there  was  ony  chance  in  our  parish  —  and 
the  minister's  far  from  weel,  by  a'  I  can 
hear  —  and  that  man  round  the  point  at  the 
English  chapel  was  na  such  an  awfu'  have- 
rll  —  I  would  be  tempted  to  flee  away  out 
of  their  fechts  and  their  objections,  and  get 
a  quiet  Sabbath-day  there." 

"  I'm  no  for  buying  peace  so  dear,  for  my 
part,"  said  Lauderdale  ;  "  they're  terrible 
haverils,  most  of  the  English  ministers  in 
our  pairts,  as  the  INIIstress  says.  We're  a' 
in  a  kind  of  dissenting  way  now-a-days,  the 
mair's  the  pity.  Whisht  a  moment,  callant, 
and  let  a  man  speak.  —  I'm  no  saying  ony- 
thing against  dissent ;  it's  a  wee  hard  in  its 
ways,  and  It  has  an  awfu'  opinion  of  itsel',  and 
there's  nae  beauty  in  it  that  it  should  be 
desired  ;  but,  when  your  mind's  made  up 
to  have  popular  rights  and  your  ain  way  in 
everything,  I  canna  see  onything  else  for  it, 
for  my  part.  It's  pure  democracy  —  that's 
what  it  is  —  and  democracy  means  naething 
else,  as  far  as  I'm  informed,  but  the  reign  of 
them  that  kens  the  least  and  skreighs  the 
loudest.  It's  no  a  bonnie  spectacle,  but 
I'm  no  a  man  that  demands  beauty  under  a' 
conditions.  Our  friend  the  curate  yonder," 
said  Lauderdale,  pointing  his  finger  vaguely 
over  his  shoulder  to  indicate  Wodensbourne, 


214 


A     SON     OF     THE     SOIL. 


"  was  awfu'  taken  up  about  his  auld  arches 
and  monuments  —  that's  what  you  ca'  the 
chancel,  I  suppose ;  but  as  for  our  young 
minister  here,  though  he's  just  as  caring  about 
thae  vanities,  it's  a'  filled  up  with  good  deal  j 
boards  and  put  behind  his  back  like  a  hidie- 
hole.  There's  something  awfu'  instructive  | 
in  that ;  for  I  wouldna  say  that  the  compar- 
ison was  ony  Avay  in  the  curate's  favour," 
said  the  philosopher,  with  a  gleam  of  sup- 
pressed pride  and  tenderness,  "  if  you  were 
to  turn  your  een  to  the  pulpit  and  take  yonr 
choice  of  tlie  men." 

Mrs.  Campbell  lifted  her  eyes  to  her  son's 
face  and  regarded  him  solemnly  as  Lauder- 
dale spoke  ;  but  she  could  not  escape  the  in- 
fluence of  the  recollection  that  even  Colin 
had  been  objected  to.  "  Nae  doubt  the  like 
of  him  in  a  kirk  should  make  a  difference," 
she  said  with  candour,  yet  melancholy, 
"  but  I  dinna  see  what's  to  be  the  end  of  it 
for  my  part  —  a  change  for  good  is  aye  aw- 
fu' slow  to  work,  and  I'U  no  live  to  see  the 
new  days." 

"  You'll  live  to  see  all  I  am  good  for,  moth- 
er," said  Colin ;  "  and  it  appears  to  me 
you  are  all  a  set  of  heretics  and  schismatics. 
Lauderdale  is  past  talking  to,  but  I  expect- 
ed something  better  of  you." 

"  Weel,  we'll  a'  see,"  said  big  Colin,  who 
in  his  heart  could  not  defend  an  order  of 
ecclesiastical  economy  which  permitted  his 
son  to  be  assaulted  by  the  parish  of  Lafton, 
or  any  other  parish,  "  if  it's  the  will  of  God. 
We're  none  of  us  so  awfu'  auld ;  but  the 
world's  aye  near  its  ending  to  a  woman  that 
sees  her  son  slighted ;  there's  nae  penitence 
can  make  up  for  that  —  no  that  he's  suifered 
much  that  I  can  see,"  the  farmer  said  with 
a  laugh.  "  That's  enough  of  the  Kii-k  for 
one  night." 

"  Eh,  Colin,  dinna  be  so  worldly,"  said 
his  wife ;  "  I  think  whiles  it  would  be  an 
awfu'  blessing  if  the  world  was  to  end  as 
some  folk  tliink ;  and  a'  tiling  cleared  up, 
and  them  joined  again  that  had  been  parted, 
and  the  bonnie  earth  safe  through  the  fire — 
if  it's  to  be  by  fire,"  she  added  with  a  ques- 
tioning glance  towards  her  son  ;  "  I  canna 
think  but  it's  gwer  good  to  be  true.  When 
I  mind  upon  a'  we've  to  go  through  in  this 
life,  and  a'  that  is  so  hard  to  mend ;  eh,  if 
He  would  but  take  it  in  His  ain  hand  !  "  said 
the  Mistress  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  No  one 
was  so  hard-hearted  as  to  preach  to  her  at 
that  moment,  or  to  enlarge  upon  the  fact 
that  everything  was  in  His  hand,  as  indeed 
she  knew  as  Avell  as  her  companions ;  but  it 
happens  sometimes  that  the  prayers  and  the 
wishes  which  are  out  of  reason,  are  those 


that  come  warmest,  and  touch  deepest  to  the 
heart. 

But,  meanwhile,  and  attending  the  end  of 
the  world,  Colin,  when  he  was  settled  for 
the  night  in  his  old  room,  with  its  shelving 
roof,  took  out  and  elabooated  his  Tract  for 
the  Times.  It  was  discontent  as  great  as  that 
of  his  mother's  which  breathed  out  of  it; 
but  then  hers  was  the  discontent  of  a  life 
which  had  nothing  new  to  do  or  to  look  for, 
and  which  had  found  out  by  experience  how 
little  progress  can  be  made  in  a  lifetime, 
and  how  difficult  it  is  to  change  evil  into 
good.  Colin's  discontent,  on  the  contrary, 
was  that  exhilarating  sentiment  which  stim- 
ulates youth,  and  ojjens  up  an  endless  field 
of  combat  and  conquest.  At  his  end  of  the 
road  it  looked  only  natural  that  the  obstacles 
should  move  of  themselves  out  of  the  way, 
iind  that  which  was  just  and  best  should 
have  the  inevitable  victory.  When  he  had 
done,  he  thought  with  a  tenderness  which 
brought  tears  to  his  eyes,  yet  at  the  same 
moment  a  smile  to  his  lips,  of  the  woman's 
impatience  that  would  hasten  the  wheels  of 
fate,  and  call  upon  God  to  take  matters,  as 
she  said,  in  his  own  hand.  That  did  not,  as 
yet,  seem  a  step  necessary  to  Colin.  He 
thought  there  was  still  time  to  work  by  the 
natural  means,  and  that  things  were  not  ar- 
rived at  such  a  pass  that  it  was  needful  to 
appeal  to  miracle.  It  could  only  be  when 
human  means  had  failed  that  such  a  resource 
could  be  necessary ;  and  the  human  means 
had  certainly  not  failed  entirely  so  long  as 
he  stood  there  in  the  bloom  of  his  young 
sti'ength,  with  his  weapons  in  his  hand. 

He  preached  in  his  native  church  on  the 
following  Sunday,  as  was  to  be  expected; 
and  from  up  the  Loch  and  down  the  Loch  all 
the  world  came  to  hear  young  Colin  of  Ra- 
more.  And  Colin  the  farmer,  the  elder,  sat 
glorious  at  the  end  of  his  pew,  and  in  the 
pride  of  his  heart  listened,  and  noted,  and 
made  inexorable  criticisms,  and  commented 
on  his  sou's  novel  ideas  with  a  severe  irony 
which  it  was  difficult  to  understand  in  its  true 
sense.  The  Duke  himself  came  to  hear 
Colin's  sermon,  which  was  a  wonderful  hon- 
our for  the  young  man,  and  aU  the  parish 
crltizised  him  with  a  zest  which  it  was  exhil- 
arating to  hear.  ''  I  mind  when  he  couldna 
say  his  Questions,"  said  Evan  of  Barnton ; "  I 
wouldna  like  to  come  under  ony  engage- 
ment that  he  kens  them  noo.  He  was  aye 
a  callant  awfu'  fond  of  his  ain  opinion,  and 
for  my  part  I'm  no  for  Presbyteries,  passing 
ower  objections  so  easy.  Either  he's  of  Jow- 
ett's  SL'hool  or  he's  no ;  but  I  never  saw  that 
there  was  ony  right  decision  come  to.  There 


A     SON     OF     THE     SOIL. 


215 


were  some  awfu'  suspicious  expressions  under 
his  second  head — if  you  could  ca'  yon  ahead," 
said  the  spiritual  ruler,  with  natural  con- 
tempt ;  for  indeed  Colln's  divisions  were  not 
what  they  ought  to  have  been,  and  he  was 
perfectly  open  to  criticism  so  far  as  that 
was  concerned. 

"  A  lot  of  that  was  out  of  Maurice,"  said 
another  thoughtful  spectator.  "I'm  aye 
doubtful  of  thae  misty  phrases.  If  it  wasna 
for  hurting  a'  their  feelings  I  would  be  awfu' 
tempted  to  say  a  word.  He's  no'  that  auld, 
and  he  might  mend. 

"  He'll  never  mend,"  said  Evan.  "  I'm 
no  one  that  ever  approved  of  the  upbringing 
of  these  laddies.  They  have  ower  much  opin- 
ion of  themselves.  There's  Archie,  that 
thinks  he  knows  the  price  of  cattle  better 
than  a  man  of  twice  his  age.  She's  an  aw- 
fu' fanciful  woman,  that  mother  of  theirs  — 
and  then  they've  a'  been  a  wee  spoiled  with 
that  business  about  the  English  callant ;  but 
I'll  no  say  but  what  he  has  abilities,"  the 
critic  added,  with  a  national  sense  of  clan- 
ship. The  parish  might  not  appi-ove  of  the 
upbringing  of  the  young  Campbells,  nor  of 
their  opinions,  but  still  it  had  a  national 
share  in  any  reputation  that  the  family  or 
any  of  its  members  might  attain. 

Colin  continued  his  course  on  the  Mon- 
day with  his  friend.  He  had  stayed  but  a 
few  days  at  home,  but  it  was  enough,  and 
all  the  party  were  sensible  of  the  fact. 
Henceforward  that  home,  precious  as  it  was, 
could  not  count  for  much  in  his  life.  It  was 
a  hard  thing  to  think  of,  but  it  was  a  neces- 
sity of  nature.  Archie  and  the  younger 
sons  greeted  with  enthusiasm  the  elder 
brother,  who  shared  with  them  his  better 
fortunes  and  higher  place ;  but,  when  the 
greeting  was  given  on  both  sides,  there  did 
not  remain  veiy  much  to  say ;  for,  to  be 
sure,  seen  by  Colin's  side,  the  young  Camp- 
bells, still  gauclie,  and  shamefaced,  and  with 
the  pride  of  a  Scotch  peasant  in  arms,  look- 
ed inferior  to  what  they  really  were,  and 
felt  so  —  and  the  mother  felt  it  for  them, 
though  Colin  was  her  own  immediate  heir 
and  the  pi-ide  of  her  heart.  She  bade 
him  farewell  with  suppressed  tears,  and  a 
sense  of  loss  which  was  not  to  be  suppress- 
ed. "  He  has  his  ain  hame,  and  his  ain 
Elace,  and  little  need  of  us  now,  the  Lord 
e  praised,"  the  Mistress  said  to  herself  as 
she  watched  him  going  down  to  the  boat ; 
"  I  think  I  would  be  real  content  if  he  had 
but  a  good  wife,"  But  still  it  was  with  a 
sigh  that  she  went  in  again  and  closed  the 
door  upon  the  departing  boat  that  carried 
her  son  back  to  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

As  for  Colin  and  his  friend,  they  went 
upon  their  way  steadily,  with  that  rare  sym- 
pathy in  difference  which  is  the  closest  bond 
of  friendship.  Lauderdale  by  this  time 
had  lost  all  the  lingerings  of  youth  which 
had  hung  long  about  him,  perhaps  by  right 
of  his  union  with  the  fresh  and  exuberant 
youth  of  his  brother-in-arms.  His  gaunt 
person  was  gaunter  than  ever,  though,  by 
an  impulse  of  the  tenderest  pride  —  not  for 
himself  but  for  his  companion  • —  his  dress 
fitted  him  better,  and  was  more  carefully 
put  on  than  it  had  ever  been  during  all  his 
life ;  but  his  long  hair,  once  so  black  and 
wild,  was  now  gray,  and  hung  in  thin  locks, 
and  his  beard,  that  relic  of  Italy,  which 
Lauderdale  preserved  religiously,  and  had 
ceased  to  be  ashamed  of,  was  gray  also,  and 
added  to  the  somewhat  solemn  aspect  of  his 
long  thoughtfid  face.  He  was  still  an  inch 
or  two  taller  than  Colin,  whose  great  waves 
of  brown  hair,  tossed  up  hke  clouds  upon 
his  forehead,  and  shining  brown  eyes,  which 
even  now  had  not  quite  lost  the  soft  shade 
of  surprise  and  admiration  which  had  given 
them  such  a  charm  in  their  earlier  years, 
contrasted  strangely  with  the  worn  looks  of 
his  friend.  They  were  not  like  father  and 
son,  for  Lauderdale  preserved  in  his  ap- 
pearance an  indefinable  air  of  solitude  and 
of  a  life  apart,  which  made  it  impossible  to 
think  of  him  in  any  such  relationship  ;  but 
perhaps  their  union  was  more  close  and 
real  than  even  that  tie  could  have  made  it, 
since  the  unwedded  childless  man  was  at 
once  young  and  old,  and  had  kept  in  his 
heart  a  virgin  freshness  more  visionary,  and 
perhaps  even  more  spotless,  than  that  of 
Colin's  untarnished  youth  —  for,  to  be  sure, 
the  young  man  not  only  was  conscious  of 
that  visionary  woman  in  the  clouds,  but  had 
already  solaced  himself  with  more  than  one 
love,  and  still  meant  to  marry  a  wife  like 
other  men,  though  that  was  not  at  present 
the  foremost  idea  in  his  mind  ;  whereas 
whatever  love  Lauderdale  might  have  had 
in  that  past  from  which  he  never  drew  the 
veil,  it  had  never  been  replaced  by  another, 
nor  involved  any  earthly  hope.  This  made 
him  naturally  more  sympathetic  than  a  man 
who  had  gone  through  all  the  ordinary  ex- 
periences of  life  could  have  been ;  and  at 
the  same  time  it  made  him  more  intolerant 
of  what  he  supposed  to  be  Colin's  incon- 
stancy. As  they  crossed  the  borders,  and 
found  themselv.es  among  the  Cumberland 
hills,  Lauderdale  approached  nearer  and 
nearer  to  that  subject  which  had  been  for 
so  long  a  time  left  in  silence  between  thein. 


216 


A      SON      OF      THE     SOIL. 


Perhaps  it  required  that  refinement  of 
ear  natural  to  a  born  citizen  of  Glasgow 
to  recognize  that  it  was  "  English  "  which 
was  being  spoken  round  them  as'  they  ad- 
vanced—  but  the  philosopher  supposed  him- 
self to  have  made  fchat  discovci-y.  He  re- 
curred to  it  with  a  certain  pathetic  meaning 
as  they  went  upon  their  way.  They  had 
set  out  on  foot  from  Carlisle,  each  with  liis 
knapsack,  to  make  their  leisurely  way  to  the 
Lakes ;  and,  when  they  rested  and  dined 
in  the  humble  roadside  inn  which  served 
for  their  first  resting-place,  the  plaintive 
cadence  of  his  friend's  voice  struck  Colin 
with  a  certain  amusement.  "They're  a' 
English  here,"  Lauderdale  said,  with  a  tone 
of  sad  recollection,  as  a  man  might  have 
said  in  Norway  or  Russia,  hearing  for  the 
first  time  the  foreign  tongue,  and  bethink- 
ing himself  of  all  the  dreary  seas  and  long 
tracts  of  country  that  lay  between  him  and 
home.  It  might  have  been  pathetic  under 
such  circumstances,  though  the  chances  are 
that  even  then  Colin,  graceless  and  fearless, 
would  have  laughed  ;  but  at  present,  when 
the  absenge  was  only  half  a  day's  march, 
and  the  difference  of  tongue,  as  we  have 
said,  only  to  be  distinguished  by  an  ear  fine 
and  native,  the  sigh  was  too  absurd  to  be 
passed  over  lightly.  "  I  never  knew  you 
have  the  mal  du  pays  before,"  Colin  said 
with  a  burst  of  laughter :  —  and  the  pat- 
riot himself  did  not  refuse  to  smile. 

"  Speak  English,"  he  said,  with  a  quaint 
self-contradiction,  "  though  I  should  say 
speat  Scotch  if  I  was  consistent;  —  you 
needna  make  your  jokes  at  me.  Oh  ay, 
it's  awfu'  easy  laughing.  I'ts  no  tliat  I'm 
thinking  of;  t'here's  nothing  out  of  the  way 
in  the  association  of  ideas  this  time,  though 
they  play  bonnie  pranks  whiles.  I'm  think- 
ing of  the  first  time  I  was  in  England,  and 
how  awfu'  queer  it  sounded  to  hear  the 
bits  of  callants  on  the  road,  and  the  poor 
bodies  at  the  cottage  doors." 

"  The  first  time  you  were  in  England  — 
that  was  when  you  came  to  nurse  me  like  a 
good  fellow  as  you  are,"  said  Colin ;  "  I 
should  have  died  that  time  but  for  my  moth- 
er and  you." 

"  I'm  not  saying  that,"  said  Lauderdale  ; 
"  you're  one  of  the  kind  that's  awfu'  hard 
to  kill  —  a  dour  callant  like  you  would  have 
come  through  a'  the  same  ;  but  it's  no  that 
I'm  thinking  of.  There  are  other  things 
that  come  to  my  mind  with  the  sound  of 
the  English  tongue.  Hold  your  peace, 
callant,  and  listen ;  is  there  nothing  comes 
back  to  you,  Avill  you  tell  me,  when  you 
hear  the  like  of  that  f  " 

"  I  hear  a  woman  talking  in  very  broad 


Cumberland,"  said  Colin,  who  notwithstand- 
ing began  to  feel  an  uncomfortable  heat 
mounting  upwards  in  his  face ;  "  you  may 
call  it  English,  if  you  have  a  mind.  There 
is  some  imperceptible  difference  between 
that  and  the  Dumfriesshire,  I  suppose  ;  but 
I  should  not  like  to  have  to  discriminate 
whei'e  the  dllTerence  lies." 

As  for  Lauderdale,  he  sighed ;  but  with- 
out intending  it,  as  it  appeared,  for  he  made 
a  great  efibrt  to  cover  his  sigh  by  a  yawn, 
for  which  latter  indulgence  he  had  evident- 
ly no  occasion,  and  then  he  tried  a  faint 
little  unnecessary  laugh,  which  sat  still 
more  strangely  on  him.  "  I'm  an  awfu' 
man  for  associations,"  he  said ;  "  I'm  no  to 
be  held  to  ony  account  for  the  things  that 
come  into  my  head.  You  may  say  it's  Cum- 
berland, and  I'm  no  disputing ;  but  for  a' 
that  thei'c's  something  in  the  sound  of  the 
voice " 

"Look  here,"  said  Colin  impatiently; 
"  listen  to  my  tract.  I  want  you  to  give  me 
your  opinion  now  it  is  finished ;  turn  this 
way,  with  your  face  to  the  hiUs,  and  never 
mind  the  voice." 

"  Oh  ay,"  said  Laudei-dale,  with  another 
sigh  ;  "  there's  nae  voice  like  his  ain  voice 
to  this  callant's  ear ;  it's  an  awfu'  thing  to 
be  an  author,  and  above  a'  a  reformer ;  for 
you  may  be  sure  it's  for  the  sake  of  the 
cause,  and  no  because  he's  written  a'  that 
himself.  Let's  hear  this  grand  tract  of 
yours :  no  that  I've  any  particular  faith  in 
that  way  of  working,"  the  philosopher  add- 
ed slowly,  settling  into  his  usual  mode  of 
talk,  without  consideration  of  his  com- 
panion's impatience  ;  "  a  book,  or  a  poem, 
or  a  tract,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  is  no 
good  in  this  world  without  an  audience. 
Any  man  can  write  a  book ;  that's  to  say, 
most  men  could  if  they  would  but  take  the 
trouble  to  try ;  but,  as  for  the  audience, 
that's  different.  If  it  doesna  come  by  na- 
ture, I  see  nae  way  of  manufiicturing  that ; 
but  I'm  no  objecting  to  hear  what  you  have 
got  to  say,"  Lauderdale  added  impartially. 
It  was  not  encouraging  perhaps  to  the 
young  author;  but  Colin  was  sufficiently 
used  by  this  time  to  his  friend's  prelections, 
and  for  his  own  part  was  very  well  pleased 
to  escape  from  memories  more  perplexing 
and  difficult  to  manage.  It  was  with  this 
intention  that  he  had  taken  out  No.  I.  of 
the  Tracts  for  the  Times.  If  any  of  the 
writers  of  the  original  series  of  these  re- 
nowned compositions  could  but  have  looked 
over  the  shoulder  of  the  young  Scotch 
minister,  and  beheld  the  dltlerent  fashion 
of  thoughts,  the  curious  fundamental  dif- 
ference which  lay  underneath,  and  yet  the 


A     SON     OF     THE     SOIL. 


217 


apparent  similarity  of  intention  on  the  face 
of  it !  Rome  and  the  Pope  were  about  as 
far  oif  as  Mecca  and  the  prophet  from 
Colin's  ideas.  He  was  not  in  the  least 
urgent  for  any  infallible  standard,  nor  at 
all  concerned  to  trace  a  direct  line  of  de- 
scent for  himself  or  his  Church ;  and  yet 
withal  his  notions  were  as  high  and  absolute 
and  arbitrary  on  some  points  as  if  he  had 
been  a  member  of  the  most  potent  of  hier- 
archies —  though  this  might  perhaps  be  set 
down  to  the  score  of  his  youth.  It  would, 
however,  be  doing  Colin  injustice  to  repro- 
duce here  this  revolutionary  document :  to 
tell  the  truth,  circumstances  occurred  very 
soon  after  to  retard  the  continuation  of  the 
series,  and,  so  far  as  his  histoi'ian  is  aware, 
the  publication  of  this  preliminary*  ad- 
dress was  only  partial.  For,  to  be  sure, 
the  young  man  had  still  abundance  of  time 
before  him,  and  the  first  and  the  most  im- 
portant thing,  as  Lauderdale  had  suggested, 
was  the  preparation  of  the  audience  —  an 
object  which  was  on  the  whole  better  car- 
ried out  by  partial  and  private  circulation 
than  by  coming  prematurely  before  the 
public,  and  giving  the  adversary  occasion 
to  blaspheme,  and  perhaps  frightening  the 
Kirk  herself  out  of  her  wits.  Having  said 
so  much,  we  may  return  to  the  more  pri- 
vate and  individual  aspect  of  affairs.  The 
two  friends  were  seated,  while  all  this  was 
going  on,  out  of  doors,  on  a  stone  bench  by 
the  gray  wall  of  the  cottage  inn,  in  which 
they  had  just  refreshed  themselves  with  a 
nondescript  meal.  The  Cumberland  hills 
—  at  that  moment  bleaching  under  the 
sunshine,  showing  all  their  scars  and  stains 
in  the  fullness  of  the  light  —  stretched  far 
away  into  the  distance,  hiding  religiously 
in  their  depths  the  sacred  woods  and  wa- 
ters that  were  the  end  of  the  pilgrimage  on 
which  the  two  friends  were  bound.  Laud- 
erdale sat  at  leisure  and  listened,  shading 
the  sunshine  from  his  face,  and  watching 
the  shadows  play  on  the  woods  and  hills ; 
and  the  same  force  of  imagination  which 
persuaded  the  unaccustomed  traveller  that 
he  could  detect  a  difference  of  tone  in  the 
rude  talk  he  heard  in  the  distance,  and  that 
that  which  was  only  Cumberland  was  Eng- 
lish, persuaded  him  also  that  the  sun- 
shine in  which  he  was  sitting  was  warmer 
than  the  sunshine  at  home,  and  that  he  was 
really,  as  he  himself  would  have  described 
it,  "  going  south."  He  was  vaguely  follow- 
ing out  these  ideas,  notwithstanding  that  he 

*  Numbers  I.  and  II.  of  the  Scotch  Tracts  for  the 
Times,  together  with  fragments  of  subsequent  num- 
bers uncompleted,  will  be  given,  if  desired  by  Colin's 
friends, in  ihe  apuendix  to  the  second  edition  of 
this  biography. 


also  listened  to  Colin,  and  gave  him  the 
fullest  attention.  Lauderdale  had  not  trav- 
elled much  in  his  life,  nor  enjoyed  many 
holidays;  and,  consequently,  the  very  sense 
of  leisure  and  novelty  recalled  to  him  the 
one  great  recreation  of  his  life  —  the  spring 
he  had  spent  in  Italy,  with  all  its  vicissi- 
tudes, prefaced  by  the  mournful  days  at 
Wodensbourne.  AH  this  came  before  Laud- 
erdale's mind  more  strongly  a  great  deal 
than  it  did  before  that  of  Colin,  because  it 
was  to  the  elder  man  the  one  sole  and 
clearly  marked  escape  out  of  the  monotony 
of  a  long  life  —  a  thing  that  had  occurred 
but  once,  and  never  could  occur  again. 
How  the  Cumberland  hills,  and  the  peasant 
voices  in  their  rude  dialect,  and  the  rouffli||k 
stone  bench  outside  the  door  of  a  gray  limq^ 
stone  cottage,  could  recall  to  Lauderdale 
the  olive  slopes  of  Frascati,  the  tall  houses 
shut  up  and  guarded  against  the  sunshine, 
and  the  far-off  solemn  waste  of  the  Gam- 
I^agna,  would  have  been  something  unin- 
telligible to  Colin.  But  in  the  meantime 
these  recollections  were  coming  to  a  climax 
in  his  companion's  mind.  He  gave  a  great 
start  in  the  midst  of  Colin's  most  eloquent 
paragraph,  and  jumped  to  his  feet,  crying, 
"  Do  you  hear  that  ?  "  with  a  thrill  of  ex- 
citement utterly  inexplicable  to  the  aston- 
ished young  man ;  and  then  Lauderdale 
grew  suddenly  ashamed  of  himself,  and 
took  his  seat  again,  abashed,  and  felt  that 
it  was  needful  to  explain. 

*'  Do  I  hear  what  ?  "  said  Colin  ;  and,  as 
this  interruption  occurred  just  at  the  mo- 
ment when  he  supposed  he  had  roused  his 
hearer  to  a  certain  pitch  of  excitement  and 
anxiety,  by  his  account  of  the  religious 
deficiencies  of  Scotland,  which  he  was  on 
the  point  of  relieving  by  an  able  exposition 
of  the  possibilities  of  reform,  it  may  be  for- 
given to  him  if  he  spoke  with  a  little  asper- 
ity. Such  a  disappointment  is  a  trying  ex- 
perience for  the  best  of  men.  "  What  is  it, 
for  Heaven's  sake  ?  "  said  the  young  man, 
forgetting  he  was  a  minister ;  and,  to  tell 
the  truth,  Lauderdale  was  so  much  ashamed 
of  himself  that  he  felt  almost  unable  to  ex- 
plain. 

"  She's  singing  something,  that's  a',"  said 
the  confused  philosopher.  "  I'm  an  awfu' 
haverll,  Colin.  There's  some  things  I  can- 
na  get  out  of  my  head.  Never  you  mind ; 
a'  that's  admirable,"  said  the  culprit,  with  a 
certain  deprecatory  eagerness.  "  I'm  awfu' 
anxious  to  see  how  you  get  us  out  of  the 
scrape.     Go  on." 

Colin  was  angry,  but  he  was  human,  and 
he  could  not  but  laugh  at  the  discomfiture 
and  conciliatory  devices  of  his  disarmed 


218 


A     SON     OF     THE     SOIL. 


critic.  "  I  am  not  going  to  tlarow  away  my 
pearls,"  he  said ;  "  since  your  mind  is  in 
such  a  deplorable  state  you  shall  hear 
no  more  to-day.  Oh,  no.  I  understand  the 
extent  of  your  anxiety.  And  so  here's 
Lauderdale  going  the  way  of  all  flesh. 
Who  is  she?  and  what  is  she  singing? 
The  best  policy  is  to  make  a  clean  breast  of 
it,"  said  the  young  man,  laughing ;  "  and 
then,  perhaps,  I  may  look  over  tlie  insult, 
you  have  been  guilty  of  to  myself." 

But    Lauderdale  was    in   no   mood    for 

laughing.     "  I'm  not  sure  that  it  wouldna 

be  "he  best  plan  to  go  on,"  he  said  ;  "  for 

notwithstanding,  I've  been  giving  my  best 

ttention  ;  and  maybe  if  I  was  to  speak  out 

""  at  was  iii  my  heart " 

'  Speak  it  out."  said  Colin.  He  was  a 
little  affronted,  but  he  kept  his  composure. 
As  he  folded  up  his  papers  and  put  them 
away  in  his  pocket-book,  he  too  heard  the 
song  which  Lauderdale  had  been  listening 
to.  It  was  only  a  country-woman  singing 
as  she  went  about  her  work,  and  there  was 
no  marked  resemblance  in  either  the  voice 
or  the  song  to  anything  he  had  heard  be- 
fore. All  that  could  be  said  was  that  the 
voice  was  young  and  fresh,  and  that  the 
melody  was  sad,  and  had  the  quality  of  sug- 
gestiveness,  which  is  often  wanting  to  more 
elaborate  music.  He  knew  what  was 
coming  when  he  put  up  his  papers  in  his 
pocket-book,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that 
perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  have  the  ex- 
planation over  and  be  done  with  it,  for  he 
knew  how  persistent  his  companion  was. 

"  It's  no  that  there's  much  to  say,"  said 
Lauderdale,  changing  his  tone ;  "  a  man 
like  me,  that's  little  used  to  change,  gets 
awfu'  like  a  fool  in  his  associations.  There's 
naething  that  ony  reasonable  creature  could 
see  in  thae  hills,  and  a'  the  sheep  on  them,  that 
should  bring  that  to  my  mind ;  and,  as  you 
say,  callant,  it's  Cumberland  they're  a' 
speaking,  and  no  English.  It's  just  a  kind 
of  folly  "that  men  are  subject  to  that  live 
their  lane.      I  canna  but  go  a'  through 

again,  from   the  beginning  to Well,  I 

suppose,"  said  Lauderdale  with  a  sigh, 
"  wliat  you  and  me  would  call  the  end." 

"  What  any  man  in  his  senses  would  call 
the  end,"  said  Colin,  beginning  to  cut  his 
pencil  with  some  ferocity,  which  was  the 
only  occupation  that  occurred  to  him  for 
the  moment ;  "  I  don't  suppose  there  can  be 
any  question  as  to  what  you  mean.  ^  Was  it 
to  be  expected  that  I  would  court  rejection 
over  again  for  the  mere  ])leasure  of  being 
rejected  ?  —  as  you  know  I  have  been,  both 
by  letter  and  in  person  ;  and  then,  as  if  even 
that  was  not  enough,  accused  of  fortune- 


hunting  ;  when  Heaven  knows "  Here 

Colin  stopped  short,  and  cut  his  pencil  so 
violently  that  he  cut  his  finger,  which  was 
an  act  which  convicted  him  of  using  un- 
necessary force,  and  of  which  accordingly, 
he  was  ashamed. 

"  It  is  no  that  I  was  thinking  of,"  said 
Lauderdale ;  "  I  was  minding  of  the  time 
Avhen  we  a'  met,  and  the  bit  soft  English 
voice.  It's  no  that  I'm  fond  of  the  Eng- 
lish, or  their  ways,"  continued  the  philoso- 
pher. "  We're  maybe  no  so  well  in  our 
ain  country,  and  maybe  we're  better ;  I'll 
no  say.  It's  a  question  awfu'  hard  to  settle. 
But,  if  ever  we  a'  foregather  again,  I  can- 
not think  there  will  be  that  difference.  It 
wasna  to  say  musical  that  I  ken  of,  but  it 
was  aye  soft  and  pleasant — maybe  ower 
soft,  Colin,  for  the  like  of  you  —  and  with 
a  bit  of  yielding  tone  in  it,  as  if  the  heart 
would  break  sooner  than  make  a  stand  for 
its  own  way.  I  mind  it  real  weel,"  said 
Lauderdale,  with  a  sigh.  "  As  for  the  fa- 
ther, no  doubt  there  was  little  to  be  said  in 
his  favour.  But,  after  a',  it  wasna  him  that 
you  had  any  intention  to  marry.  And  yon 
Sabbath-day  after  he  was  gone,  poor  man ! 
—  when  you  and  me'  didna  ken  what  to  do 
with  ourselves  till  the  soft  thing  came  out 
of  her  painted  cha'amer,  and  took  the  guid- 
ing of  us  into  her  hands.  It's  that  1  was 
thinking  of,"  said  Lauderdale,  fixing  his 
eyes  on  a  far  off"  point  upon  the  hills,  and 
ending  his  musing  with  a  sigh. 

Colin  sighed,  too,  for  sympathy  —  ho 
could  not  help  it.  The  scene  came  before 
him  as  his  friend  spoke.  He  thouglit  he 
could  see  Alice,  in  her  pallor  and  exhaus- 
tion, worn  to  a  soft  shadow,  in  her  black 
dress,  coming  into  the  bare  Italian  room  in 
the  glorious  summer  day,  Avhich  all  the 
precautions  possible  could  not  shut  out  from 
the  house  of  mourning — with  her  prayer- 
book  in  her  hand ;  and  then  he  remembered 
how  she  had  chidden  him  for  reading  an- 
other lesson  than  that  appointed  for  the 
day.  It  was  in  the  height  of  his  own  rev- 
olutionary impulses  that  this  thought 
struck  him ;  and  he  smiled  to  liimself  in 
the  midst  of  his  sigh,  with  a  tender  thought 
for  Alice,  and  a  passing  wonder  for  himself, 
what  change  might  have  been  wrought  up- 
on him  if  that  dutiful  little  soul  had  actually 
become  the  companion  of  his  life.  Colin 
was  not  the  kind  of  man  who  can  propose 
to  himself  to  form  his  wife's  mind,  and  rule 
Ijer  thoughts,  and  influence  her  without  be- 
ing sensible  of  her  influence  in  retin-n. 
That  was  not  the  order  of  domestic  affairs 
in  Ramore ;  and  naturally  he  judged  the 
life  that  might  have  been,  and  even  yet 


ION     OF     THE     SOIL. 


219 


might  be,  by  tliat  standard.  The  Mistress's 
son  did  not  understand  having  a  nullity,  or 
a  shadow  of  himself,  for  a  wife ;  and  in- 
sensibly he  made  his  way  back  from  the 
allendrissement  into  which  Lauderdale's  mu- 
sings had  led  him,  into  half-amused  specula- 
tion as  to  the  effect  Alice  and  her  influence 
might  have  had  upon  him  by  this  time.  "  If 
(hat  had  hapjiened,"  he  said  with  a  smile, 
bursting  out,  as  was  usual  to  him  when  Lau- 
derdale was  his  companion,  at  that  particu- 
lar jx)int  of  his  thoughts  which  required 
expression,  without  ti-oubling  himself  to  ex- 
plain how  he  came  there  — ''  if  that  had 
happened,"  said  Colin,  with'  the  ^nscious 
smile  of  old,  "I  wonder  what  soW  of  fel- 
low I  should  have  been  by  this  time  ?  I 
dpubt  if  'I  should  have  had  any  idea  of 
disturbing  the  constituted  order  of  affairs. 
Things  are  always  for  the  best,  you  per- 
ceive, as  everybody  says.  A  man  who  has 
any  revolutionary  work  to  do  must  be  free 
and  alone.  But  don't  let  us  talk  any  more 
of  that  —  I  don't  like  turning  back  upon 
the  road.  But  for  that  feeling  I  should 
have  settled  the  business  before  now  about 
poor  Arthur's  '  Voice  from  the  Grave.' " 

"  I  was  aye  against  that  title,"  said  Lau- 
derdale, *'  if  he  would  have  paid  any  atten- 
tion; but  you're  a'  the  same,  you  young 
Gallants;  it's  nae  more  a  voice  from  the 
grave  than  mine  is.  It's  a  voice  from  an 
awfu'  real  life,  that  had  nae  intention  to 
lose  a  minute  that  was  permitted.  It  would 
be  something,  to  be  sure  that  he  was  kept 
informed,  and  had  a  pleasure  in  his  book  ; 
but  then,  so  far  as  I  can  judge,  he  maun 
ken  an  awfu'  deal  better  by  this  time  —  and 
maybe  up  there  they're  no  heeding  about  a 
thu'd  edition.  It's  hard  to  say ;  he  was  so 
terrible  like  himself  up  to  the  last  moment ; 
I  cauna  imagine,  in  my  own  mind,  that  he's 
no  like  himself  still.  There  should  be  a 
heap  of  siller,"  said  Lauderdale,  "  by  this 
time ;  and  sooner  or  later  you'll  have  to 
open  communication,  and  let  them  ken." 

"Yes,"  said  Colin,  with  a  momentary 
look  of  sullenness  and  repugnance ;  and 
then  he  added,  in  a  lighter  tone,  "  heaps  of 
money  never  came  out  of  a  religious  pub- 
lisher's hand.  A  third  edition  does  not 
mean  the  same  thing  with  them  as  with 
other  people.  Of  course,  it  must  be  set 
right  some  time  or  other.  We  had  better 
set  off,  I  can  tell  you,  and  not  talk  idle  talk 
like  this,  if  we  mean  to  get  to  our  journey's 
end  to-night." 

"  Oh,  ay,"  said  Lauderdale,  "  you're  aye 
in  a  hurry,  you  young  callants.  As  for  me, 
I've  aye  found  time  to  finish  what  I  was 
about.    Is  it  the  father  that  makes  you  so 


unwilling  for  any  correspondence  ?  —  but 
it's  awfu'  easy  to  settle  a  thing  like  that." 

"  I  think  you  want  to  try  how  far  my  pa- 
tience can  go,"  said  Colin,  who  had  grown 
crimson  up  to  the  hair.  "  Do  you  think  a 
man  has  no  feeling,  Lauderdale  ?  Do  you 
think  it  is  possibla  to  be  treated  as  I  have 
been,  and  yet  go  back  again  with  humility, 
hat  in  hand  ?  I  don't  feel  myself  capable 
of  that." 

"  If  you're  asking  me  my  opinion,"  said 
Lauderdale,  calmly,  "  I've  nae  objection  to 
tell  you  what  I  think.  You're  no  vindictive, 
and  you've  nae  pride  to  speak  of — I'm 
meaning  pride  of  that  kind.  It's  no  in  you 
to  bear  a  grudge  at  onybody  beyond,  maybe, 
the  hour  or  the  day.  So  I'm  no  heeding 
much  about  that^|nestion,  for  my  part.  If 
you  had  an  awfu'  regard  for  the  man,  he 
might  affront  you ;  but  no  being  indifferent, 
I'm  telling  you  just  my  opinion,  with  my 
partial  knowledge  of  the  premises  —  but 
for  her,  I  cannot  but  say  what  is  in  my  ain 
mind.  I've  a  kind  of  longing  to  see  her 
again ;  we  used  to  be  awfu'  good  friends, 
her  and  me.  I  had  you  to  take  care  of,  cal- 
lant,  and  she  had  hi7n ;  and  whiles  she  had 
a  moment  of  envy,  and  grudged  terrible  in 
her  heart  to  see  the  air  and  the  sun,  that  are 
for  baith  the  good  and  the  evil,  so  hard  up- 
on him,  and  so  sweet  to  you ;  there  was  little 
in  her  mind  to  hide,  and  her  and  me  were 
good  friends.  I'll  never  forget  our  counts 
and  our  reckonings.  It's  awfu'  hard  for  the 
like  o'  me  to  divine  wherefore  it  is  that  a' 
that  has  come  to  an  end,  and  her  and  you 
dropped  out  of  one  another's  life." 

"Lauderdale,"  said  Colin,  with  a  little 
choking  in  his  voice,  "  I  will  tell  you  what  I 

never  told  you  before "  and  then  the 

j'oung  man  stopped  short,  as  if  he  had  re- 
ceived a  blow.  What  was  it  that  came  over 
him  like  an  imperious  sudden  prohibition, 
stopping  the  words  upon  his  lips  the  first 
time  he  had  ever  dreamt  of  uttering  them 
to  mortal  ear  ?  He  had  a  feeUng  somehow 
as  if  one  of  those  flying  shadows  that  kept 
coming  and  going  over  the  mountains  had 
taken  another  shape  and  come  before  him, 
and  put  a  cold  hand  on  his  lips.  He  was 
about  to  have  confessed  that  his  love  had 
been  no  more  than  tender  compassion  and 
kindness ;  he  was  about  to  have  said  what 
Lauderdale  might  have  guessed  before,  what 
Colin  had  kept  secret  and  hidden  in  his 
breast  —  that  Alice  never  was  nor  could  be 
the  ideal  woman  of  his  thoughts,  the  true 
love,  who  waited  for  him  somewhere  in  the 
future.  But  perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  no 
shadow  nor  unseen  influence,  but  only  the 
young  man's  magnanimous  heart  that  spared 


220 


that  humiliation  to  the  name  of  Alice  —  sole- 
ly to  her  name ;  for,  now  that  all  was  over 
between  them,  it  was  only  that  abstract 
representation  of  her  that  was  concerned. 
"  Ay,"  said  Lauderdale,  after  a  moment, 


A     SON     OF     THE     SOIL. 


you  were  goinj 


to  tell 


and  then 


he  rose  as  Colin  had  done,  and  threw  his 
knapsack  on  his  shoulder,  and  prepared  to 
resume  his  march. 

"  We  shall  have  an  hour's  walking  in  the 
dark,  if  we  don't  make  all  the  better  prog- 
ress," said  Colin ;  "  which  is  uncomfortable 
when  one  does  not  know  the  way.  And 
now  to  return  to  No.  I."  he  said  with  a 
laugh,  as  they  went  on  along  the  dusty  road. 
There  was  not  another  word  said  between 
them  of  the  confession  thus  abruptly  stopped. 
Perhaps  Lauderdale  in  Hliheart  had  a  per- 
ception of  what  it  meant ;  but,  however  that 
might  be,  both  fell  at  once  with  eagerness, 
as  if  they  had  never  digressed  for  a  moment, 
upon  the  first  number  of  Colin's  Tracts  for 
the  Times. 

CHAPTER   XLVIII. 

Tliis  conversation,  however,  as  was  natu- 
ral, had  a  certain  effect  upon  both  the 
friends.  It  threw  Colin,  who,  to  be  sure,  was 
chiefly  concerned,  into  a  world  of  confused 
imaginations,  which  influenced  even  his 
dreams,  and  through  his  dreams  reacted  up- 
on himself.  When  he  was  alone  at  night, 
instead  of  going  to  sleep  at  once,  as  would 
have  been  natural  after  his  day's  journey, 
he  kept  falling  into  absurd  little  dozes  and 
waking  up  suddenly  with  the  idea  that  Alice 
was  standing  by  him,  that  she  was  calling 
him,  that  it  was  the  marriage-day,  and  that 
somebody  had  found  him  out,  and  was  about 
to  tell  his  bride  that  he  did  not  love  her ; 
and  at  last,  when  he  went  to  sleep  in  good 
earnest,  the  fantastic  melange  of  recollection 
and  imagination  carried  him  back  to  Fras- 
cati,  where  he  found  Arthur  and  Alice,  as 
of  old,  in  the  great  salone,  with  its  frescoed 
■walls,  and  talked  to  them  as  in  the  former 
days.  He  thought  Meredith  told  him  of  an 
important  journey  upon  which  he  was  setting 
out,  and  made  arrangements  in  the  mean- 
time for  his  sister  with  an  anxiety  which  the 
real  Arthur  had  never  dreamt  of  exhibiting. 
"  She  will  be  safe  with  you  at  present," 
the  visionary  Arthur  seemed  to  say,  "  and 

by-and-by  you  will  send  her  to  me " 

And  when  Colin  woke  it  Avas  hard  for  him 
to  convince  himself  at  first  that  he  had  not 
been  in  actual  communication  with  his 
friend.  He  accounted  for  it,  of  aourse,  as  it 
is  very  easy  to  account  for  dreams,  and  con- 
vinced himself,  and  vet  left  behind  in  some 


I  crevice  of  his  heart  a  dumb  consciousness 
I  which  hid  itself  out  of  sight  that  it  might 
f  not  be  argued  with,  that  after  all  jVrthur 
and  he  in  the  dark  had  passed  by  each  oth- 
er, and  exchanged  a  word  or  thought  in 
passing.  Colin  took  care  not  to  betray  even 
to  himself  the  existence  of  this  conviction ; 
but  deep  down  in  the  silence  it  influenced 
him  unawares.  As  for  Lauderdale,  his 
thoughts,  as  might  have  been  expected,  had 
taken  another  direction.  Perhaps  he  was 
past  the  age  of  dreaming.  Colin's  revela- 
tion which  he  did  not  make  had  possibly  told 
his  friend  more  than  if  it  had  been  said  out 
in  words:  and  all  the  thoughts  of  the  elder 
man  h  jP  fixed  upon  the  strange  problem 
which  has  been  discussed  so  often  with  so 
little  result  —  how  there  are  some  jieople 
who  can  have  love  for  the  asking,  and  reject 
it,  and  how  there  are  some  Avho  would  die 
for  that  dear  consolation,  to  whom  it  does 
not  come.  To  be  sure,  he  was  not  philo- 
sophical on  this  subject,  and  the  chances  arc 
that  he  attributed  to  Alice  feelings  much 
deeper  and  more  serious  than  any  that  had 
actually  moved  her.  The  chances  were,  in- 
deed, for  all  that  Lauderdale  knerr,  that  she 
had  accepted  her  position,  as  Colin  thought, 
dutifully,  and  obeyed  her  father,  and  ceased 
to  think  anything  about  the  romantic  pro- 
jects and  strange  companionship  of  their 
Italian  life.  But  the  friend  was  more  faith- 
ful than  the  lover,  and  had  a  more  elevated 
idea  of  Alice,  and  her  capabilities;  and  he, 
took  to  talking  in  his  vague  way,  hovering 
round  the  subject  in  wide  circles,  now  and 
then  swooping  down  for  a  moment  on  some 
point  that  approached,  as  closely  as  he 
thought  it  right  to  approach,  to  the  real 
centre  of  his  thoughts. 

"  Thae  great  hills  are  awfu'  in  the  way," 
said  Lauderdale.  "I'm  no  saying  but 
they're  an  ornament  to  a  country,  and  grand 
things  for  you,  and  the  like  of  you,  that 
make  verses;  but  I  canna  see  any  reason 
Avhy  they  should  come  between  me  and  the 
sun.  I'm  no  so  high,  but  I'm  maybe  mair 
important  in  the  economy  of  creation.  Yet, 
for  a'  that,  there's  yen  Ijald  fellow  yoniler, 
with  a'  those  patches  on  his  crown,  puts  him- 
self right  between  us  and  the  light  without 
even  asking  pardon.  It's  no  respectful  to 
you  in  your  position,  Colin.  They're  awfu' 
like  men.  I've  seen  a  man  standing  like 
that  across  another  man's  life  —  or  whiles 
another  woman's,"  said  the  philosopher. 
"It's  not  an  encouraging  spectacle.  I'm 
no  heeding  about  Nature,  that  kens  no  bet- 
ter ;  but  for  a  man " 

"  Perhaps  the  man,  too,  might  know  no 
better,"  said  Colin,  laughing ;  but  his  laugh 


A     SON     OF     THE     SOIL, 


221 


was  slightly  uneasy,  for  he,  too,  had  been 
thinking,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  sub- 
ject was  an  unfortunate  one  to  start  with. 
"  I  don't  see  that  he  is  much  more  resi^on- 
sible  than  the  mountain.  It  may  be  in  pur- 
suing his  own  path,  simply  enough,  that  he 
shadows  another  man's  for  the  moment  —  or 
another  woman's,  as  you  say,  Lauderdale," 
he  said,  breaking  off  and  laughing  again. 
Somehow  a  little  absurd  colour  had  come  to 
his  face,  he  could  not  tell  why. 

"  Ay,"  said  Lauderdale,  "  and  you're 
thinking  that  above  a',  that's  real  dangerous 
for  a  minister.  When  he's  popular  Hke  you 
he  has  so  many  paths  to  cross  —  and  young 
—  and  a  kind  of  genius  in  his  way  —  and 
no  to  call  bad-looking  neither,"  said  the  crit- 
ic, turning  upon  Colin  a  somewhat  savage 
look ;  "  and  then  the  women  part  of  them, 
they're  often  awfu'  haverils,  and  a  young 
minister  canna  be  uncivil.  It's  nae  feult  of 
the  hill,  but  it's  awfu'  silly  of  me  to  let  my- 
self be  kept  in  the  shade." 

"  Hit  fair,"  said  Colin,  laughing ;  "  none 
of  your  blows  in  the  dark.  I  am  an  inno- 
cent man  ;  besides  there  are  no  interesting 
pathways  in  my  way  to  cross,"the  young  man 
added  with  natural  pathos;  for,  indeed, 
since  the  days  of  Matty  Franklin  and  Alice, 
his  opportunities  on  the  whole  in  that  par- 
ticular had  been  small. 

"  It's  grand  when  he  does  not  lose  his 
road  himself,"  said  Lauderdale.  "  That's  an 
awfu'  advantage  on  the  part  of  the  hills. 
They've  nae  responsibility,  no  being  volun- 
tary agents ;  but  I've  seen  a  man  lose 
his  ain  way  that  had  been  a  shadow  on 
another  man's  road  —  or  woman's,  as  you 
were  saying.  We're  done  with  that  now," 
said  the  philosopher  ;  "  the  shadows  are  no  so 
long  lingering  in  the  morning  —  but  I  am 
real  glad  to  be  clear  of  it  myself  You  see, 
after  a',  we're  no  in  Italy,  though  we're 
coming  south.  I  dinna  understand  a  coun- 
try that  makes  you  hide  in  the  midday,  and 
lose  your  time  in  a'  the  corners.  Here  a 
man  can  walk  in  the  sun." 

"  Even  in  another  man's  sun,"  said  Colin, 
"or  woman's,  according  to  what  you  have 
just  been  saying.  But  we  will  have  enough 
of  it  to-day,  before  we  get  to  our  journey's 
end." 

"Ay,"  said  Lauderdale;  "there's  some- 
thing awfu'  unreasonable  in  this  life,  take  it 
at  the  best.  As  for  logic,  I  never  was  great 
on  that  point.  The  grand  thing  of  a  man 
is,  that  you  never  can  tell  what  he'll  do  the 
next  moment.  I'm  no  denying  the  force  of 
character.  It's  the  only  thing  in  this  world 
that  gives  a  kind  of  direction,  but  I  wouldna 
even  put  my  trust  in  character.     I  ken  you 


very  well,  for  example,"  he  continued; 
"wonderful  well,  considering . you're  a  hu- 
man creature  like  mysel$  I  have  a  kind  of 
idea  what  you  would  be  most  likely  to  think 
on  most  subjects,  and  could  very  near  run 
the  risk  of  prophesying  what  you  would  say  ; 
but,  when  you  turn  that  corner  out  of  my 
sight,  I  ken  no  more  what  may  be  the  next" 
thing  you'll  do  than  if  I  had  never  heard 
your  name.  No,  I'm  no  tired  at  this  hour  of 
the  morning  —  but  I've  an  awfu'  objection  to 
dust,  and  the  road  is  as  powdery  as  a  mill. 
My  intention  is  to  take  a  seat  on  this  brae 
and  let  that  carriage  pass." 

"Wait  a  little,  then;  it  comes  on  very 
slowly ;  there  must  be  some  invalid  in  it, 
for  the  horses  look  good  enough,"  said 
Colin,  and  he  turned  his  back  to  the  car- 
riage which  was  approaching,  in  order  to 
survey  the  green  slope,  covered  with  trees 
and  bi-ushwood,  upon  which  Lauderdale 
meant  to  rest.  They  were  separated  a  little 
when  the  carriage  came  up,  and  neither  of 
them  paid  much  attention  to  it.  Lauder- 
dale was  already  half  way  up  the  slope,  and 
Colin  was  standing  by  the  side  of  the  road, 
looking  after  him.  The  horses  had  quick- 
ened their  pace  at  the  last  moment,  and  had  _ 
passed  before  Colin  could  turn  round  to  see  " 
who  the  travellers  were ;  but  at  that  mo- 
ment, as  the  carriage  rolled  along  behind 
him,  he  gave  a  start  so  violent  that  the  stones 
uiJder  his  feet  seemed  suddenly  to  get  in  his 
way  and  trip  him  up,  and  Lauderdale  for 
his  part  came  down  from  the  brae  with  a 
long  leap  and  strange  exclamation.  "  What 
was  that  ?  "  they  said  to  each  other,  in  the 
same  breath,  and  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
looked  in  each  other's  faces,  and  listened. 
The  carriage  went  on  faster,  raising  a  cloud 
of  dust,  and  nothing  was  to  be  heard  except 
the  sound  of  the  horses'  hoofs  and  the  wheels. 
It  was  Colin  that  was  the  first  to  break  the 
silence.  He  detached  himself  from  among 
the  stones  and  bushes,  where  he  got  entan- 
gled in  that  moment  of  agitation,  and  sprang 
back  again  to  the  high  road  which  lay  be- 
fore him,  veiled  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  "  It  is 
simply  absurd,"  said  Colin.  "Lauderdale, 
I  cannot  imagine  what  you  mean  ;  you  are 
enough  to  drive  a  man  mad.  Some  one  gives 
a  chance  outcry  in  passing,  and  you  make 

up  your  mind  that  it  is Good  heavens  ! 

I  never  knew  such  folly !  "  cried  the  young 
man.  He  took  off  his  hat  without  knowing 
it,  and  thrust  his  hair  up  over  his  forehead, 
and  made  an  effort  to  take  courage  and  re- 
gain his  composure  as  he  took  breath.  But 
it  was  very  clear  that  Lauderdale  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  Colin's  excitement.  He  had 
himself  heard  the  cry,  and  felt  in  his  heart 


222 


A     SON     OF     THE     SOIL. 


tliat  it  was  no  imagination.     As  Le  stood  | 
there  in  his  pretended  indignation  the  im-  j 
pulse  of  flight  camainpon  him — a  certain  ter- 
ror, which  he  could  not  explain  nor  compre-  j 
heud,  came  over  him.     There  was  not  a  man 
in  existence  before  whom  he  would  have  ; 
flown ;  but  that  httle  cry  of  recognition  took 
away  all  his  courage.  He  did  not  feel  in  him- 
self the  strength  to  go  forward,  to  venture 
upon  a  meeting.  The  blood  which  had  rushed 
to  his  face  for  the  first  moment  seemed  to  go 
back  upon  his  heart  and  stifle  it.     He  had 
made  a  step  or  two  forward  without  think- 
ing ;  but  then  he  arrested  himself,  and  wa- 
vered, and  looked  upon  the  road  which  lay 
quite  tranquil  behind  him  in  the  shadow  of 
the  liills.     It  seemed  to  him  for  the  moment 
as  if  his  only  safety  was  in  flight. 

As  for  Lauderdale,  it  took  him  all  the 
time  which  Colin  had  occupied  in  these 
thoughts  to  get  down  from  his  elevation  and 
return  to  his  friend's  side.  He  for  his  part 
was  animated  and  eager.  "  This  is  no  her 
country,"  said  Lauderdale ;  "  she's  a  traveller, 
as  we  are.  The  carriage  will  stop  at  our  next 
stage,  but  there's  no  time  to  be  lost;  "  and 
as  he  said  these  words  he  resumed  his  march 
,with  his  long  steady  step  without  remarking 
the  hesitation  of  Colin  or  what  he  had  said. 
The  young  man  himself  felt  that  saving  im- 
pulse fail  him  after  the  first  minute.  After- 
wards, all  the  secondaiy  motives  came  into 
his  mind,  and  urged  him  to  go  on.  Had  lie 
allowed  that  he  was  afraid  to  meet  or  to  re- 
new his  relationship  with  Alice  Meredith, 
supposing  that  by  any  extraordinary  chance 
this  should  be  she,  it  would  be  to  betray  the 
secret  which  he  had  guarded  so  long,  and  to 
betray  himself;  and  he  knew  no  reason  that 
he  could  give  for  such  a  cowardly  retreat. 
He  could  not  say,  "  K I  see  her  again,  and 
find  that  she  has  been  thinking  of  me,  I  shall 
be  compelled  to  carry  out  my  original  mis- 
take, and  give  up  my  brighter  hopes,"  —  for 
no  one  knew  that  he  had  made  any  mistake, 
or  that  she  was  not  to  his  eyes  the  type  of  all 
that  was  dearest  in  woman.  "The  chances  are 
that  it  is  all  a  piece  of  folly  —  a  deception 
of  the  senses,"  he  said  to  himself  instead  — 
"something  like  what  people  have  when  they 
think  they  see  ghosts.  We  have  talked  of  her, 
and  I  have  dreamed  of  her,  and  now,  to  be 
sure,  necessity  requires  that  I  should  hear 
her.  It  should  have  been  seeing,  to  make 
all  perfect ;  "  and,  after  that  little  piece  of 
self-contempt,  he  went  on  again  with  Lau- 
derdale without  making  any  objection.  The 
dust  which  had  been  raised  by  the  carriage 
came  towards  them  like  a  moving  pillar ; 
but  the  carriage  itself  went  rapidly  on  and 
turned  the  corner  and  went  out  of  sight. 


And  then  Colin  did  his  best  to  comfort  and 
strengthen  himself  by  oflier  means. 

"  Don't  put  yourself  out  of  breath,"  he 
said  to  Lauderdale ;  "  the  Avhole  thing  is 
quite  explainable.  That  absurd  imagination 
of  yours  yesterday  has  got  into  both  our 
heads.  I  don't  mind  saying  I  dreamt 
of  it  all  last  night.  Anything  so  wild  was 
never  put  into  a  novel.  It's  an  optical  illu- 
sion, or,  rather  I  should  say,  it's  an  ocular 
illusion.  Things  don't  happen  in  real  life  in 
this  kind  of  promiscuous  way.  Don't  walk 
so  quick  and  put  yourself  out  of  breath." 

"  Did  you  no  hear  ?  "  said  Lauderdale. 
"  If  you  hadna  heard  I  could  understand. 
As  for  me,  I  canna  say  but  I  saw  as  well. 
I'm  no  minding  at  this  moment  about  my 
breath." 

"  What  did  you  see  ?  "■  cried  Colin,  with 
a  sudden  thrill  at  his  heart. 

"  I'll  no  say  it  was  her"  said  Lauderdale  ; 
"  no  but  what  I  am  as  sure  as  I  am  of  life 
that  she  was  there.  I  saw  somethng  white 
laid  back  in  the  carriage,  somebody  that 
was  ill ;  it  might  be  her  or  it  might  be 
another.  I've  an  awfu'  strong  opinion  that 
it  was  her.  It's  been  borne  in  on  my  mind 
that  she  was  ill  and  wearying.  "We  mightna 
ken  her,  but  she  kent  you  and  me." 

"  "What  you  say  makes  it  more  and  more 
unlikely,"  said  Colin.  "  I  confess  that  I  was 
a  little  excited  my!=elf  by  those  dreams  and 
stuff;  but  nothing  could  be  more  improbable 
than  that  she  should  recognize  you  and  me. 
Bah  !  it  is  absurd  to  be  talking  of /ur  in  this 
ridiculous  way,  as  if  we  had  the  slightest 
reason  to  suppose  it  was  her.  Any  little 
movement  might  make  a  sick  lady  cry  out ; 
and,  as  for  recognizing  a  voice  at  such  a 
distance  of  time  !  —  All  this  makes  me  feel 
like  a  fool,"  said  Colin.  "  I  am  more  dis- 
posed to  go  back  than  to  go  on.  I  wish  you 
would  dismiss  that  nonsense  from  your 
thoughts." 

"  If  I  was  to  do  that  same,  do  you  think 
you  could  join  me  ? "  said  Lauderdale. 
"  There's  voices  I  would  ken  after  thirty 
years  instead  of  after  three  ;  and  I'm  no 
iikely  to  forget  the  bit  English  tone  of  it. 
I'm  a  wee  slow  about  some  things,  and  I'll 
no  pretend  to  fathom  your  meaning;  but, 
whether  its  draft-like  or  no,  this  I'm  sure  of, 
that  if  you  make  up  to  that  carriage  that's 
av/ay  out  of  our  siglit  at  this  moment,  you'll 
find  Alice  Meredith  there." 

"  I  don't  beheve  anything  of  the  kind. 
Your  imagination  has  deceived  you,"  said 
Colin,  and  they  went  on  for  a  long  time  in 
silence ;  but  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  Cclin 
felt  that  his  own  imagination  had  not  de-. 
ceived  him.     The  oulv  thing  that  had  de- 


A     SON     GF     THE     SOIL. 


223 


ceived  liiin  was  that  foolish  feeling  of  liberty, 
that  sense  that  he  had  escaped  fate,  and  that 
the  rash  engagements  of  his  youth  were  to 
have  no  consequences,  into  which  he  had  de- 
luded himself  for  some  time  past.  Even 
while  he  professed  his  utter  disbelief  in  this 
encounter,  he  was  asking  himself  how  in  his 
changed  circumstances  he  could  bear  the 
old  Ijridle,  the  rein  upon  his  proud  neck  ? 
If  it  had  been  a  curb  upon  his  freedom,  even 
at  the  moment  when  he  had  formed  it  -^  if 
it  had  become  a  painful  bondage  afterwards 
while  still  the  impression  of  Alice's  gentle 
tenderness  had  not  quite  worn  off  his  mind 
—  what  would  it  be  now  when  he  had  eman- 
cipated himself  from  those  soft  prejudices  of 
recollection,  and  when  he  had  acknowledged 
so  fully  to  himself  that  his  heart  never  had 
been  really  touched  ?  He  marched  on  by 
Lauderdale's  side,  and  paid  no  attention  to 
what  his  friend  said  to  him;  and  nothing 
could  be  more  difficult  to  describe  than  the 
state  of  Colin's  mind  during  this  walk.  Per- 
haps the  only  right  thing,  the  only  sensible 
thing,  he  could  have  done  in  the  circumstan-  ] 
ces  would  have  been  to  turn  back  and  de- 1 
eline  altogether  this  re-awakening  of  the  | 
past.  But  then  at  six-and-twenty  the  mind 
is  still  so  adverse  to  turning  back,  and  has 
so  much  confidence  in  its  own  power  of  sur- 
mounting difficulty,  and  in  its  good  stai-,  and 
in  the  favour  and  assistance  of  all  p6wers  and 
influences  in  heaven  and  earth ;  and  then 
his  pride  was  up  in  arms  against  such  a 
mode  of  extricating  himself  from  the  appar- 
ent difficulty,  and  all  the  delicacy  of  his  na- 
ture revolted  from  the  idea  of  thus  throwing 
the  wrong  and  humiliation  upon  the  woman, 
upon  Alice,  a  creature  who  had  loved  him 
and  trusted  him,  and  whom  he  had  never 
owned  he  did  not  love.  Underneath  all 
these  complications  there  was,  to  be  sure,  a 
faint,  sustaining  hope  that  an  encounter  of 
this  kind  was  incredible,  and  that  it  might 
turn  out  not  to  be  Alice  at  all,  and  that  all 
these  fears  and  embarrassments  might  come 
to  nothing.  With  all  this  In  his  mind  he 
marched  on,  feeling  the  sweet  air  and  fresh 
winds  and  sunshine  to  be  all  so  many  spec- 
tators accompanying  him  perhaps  to  the 
turning-point  of  his  life,  where,  for  all  he 
knew,  things  might  go  against  him,  and  his 
wings  be  clipped  and  his  future  limited  for 
ever  and  ever.  Perhaps  some  of  Colin's 
friends  may  think  that  he  exhibited  great 
weakness  of  mind  on  this  occasion,  as,  in- 
deed, it  is  certain  that  there  are  many  peo- 
ple who  beheve  with  some  reason  that  it  is 
next  thing  to  a  sin  to  put  honour  in  the 
place  of  love,  or  to  give  to  constancy  the 
rights  of  passion.     But  then,  whatever  a 


man's  principles  may  be,  it  is  his  character 
in  most  cases  that  carries  the  day.  Every 
man  must  act  according  to  his  own  nature 
as  says  the  Arabian  sage.  Sir  Bayard, 
even,  thinking  It  all  over,  might  not  approve 
of  himself,  and  might  see  a  great  deal  of  folly 
in  what  "he  was  doing ;  but,  as  for  a  man's 
opinion  of  himself,  that  counts  for  very  little; 
and  he  could  only  go  on  and  follow  out  his 
career  in  his  own  way. 

Lauderdale,  on  his  side,  had  less  compre- 
hension of  his  friend  at  this  point  of  his  char- 
acter than  at  any  other.  He  had  discour- 
aged as  far  as  he  was  able  the  earlier  steps 
of  the  engagement  between  Colin  and  Al- 
ice ;  but  when  things  "  had  gone  so  far  "  the 
philosopher  understood  no  compromise. 
He  hastened  on  through  the  dust,  for  his 
part,  with  a  tender  anxiety  in  his  heart,  con- 
cerned for  the  girl  who  had  approached  him 
more  liearly  than  any  woman  had  done 
since  the  days  of  his  youth ;  who  had  been 
to  him  that  mingled  type  of  sister,  daughter, 
dependant,  and  ruler,  wliich  a  very  young, 
very  innocent,  ivoman  sometimes  is  to  a  man 
too  old  to  fall  in  love  with  her,  or  even  to 
think  of  such  a  weakness.  Such  love  as 
had  been  possible  to  Lauderdale  had  been 
given  early  in  his  life  —  given  once  and 
done  with ;  and  Colin  had  filled  up  all  the 
place  in  his  heart  which  miight  have  been 
left  vacant  as  a  prey  to  vagrant  aff"ections. 
At  present  he  was  occupied  with  the 
thought  that  Alice  was  ill,  and  that  the  little 
cry  she  had  uttered  had  a  tone  of  appeal  in 
it,  and  was  in  reality  a  cry  for  help  to  those 
who  had  succoured  her  in  her  loneliness, 
and  been  more  to  her  for  one  little  period 
of  her  life  than  father  or  famUy.  And  Col- 
in's fi'iend  and  guardian  pursued  his  way 
with  great  strides,  going  to  the  rescue  of  the 
tender,  little  suffering  creature,  the  mourn- 
ful, yet  dutiful,  little  woman  who  had  borne 
her  grief  so  courageously  at  Frascati,  where 
they  two  were  all  the  protectors,  all  the 
comforters  she  had.  Thus  the  friends  went* 
on  with  their  different  sentiments,  saying 
little  to  each  other,  and  not  a  word  upon  this 
particular  subject.  They  had  meant  to 
pause  at  a  village  which  was  on  their  way  to 
Windermere  to  rest  during  the  heat  of  the 
day  and  refresh  themselves ;  and  it  was  here, 
according  to  all  likelihood,  that  the  carriage 
which  had  passed  with  the  invahd  would  al- 
so stop,  to  repose  the  sick  lady  if  she  was  a 
stranger  —  to  await  the  approach  of  the  two 
pedestrians  if  it  was  Alice,  and  if  she  was 
free  to  take  such  a  step.  Lauderdale  iiad 
no  doubt  either  of  the  one  or  the  other  of 
these  facts  ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  Colin,  re- 
garding the  matter  under  an  altogether  dif- 


224 


A     SON     OF     THE     SOIL. 


ferent  aspect,  had  little  doubt  on  his  part 
that  the  moment  of  fate  had  arrived. 

Nevertheless,  when  he  saw  the  first  strajT- 
fjling  houses  of  the  liamlet  —  rude  little 
Westmoreland  houses,  gray  and  simjjle  with 
a  mooiUuid  air,  and  no  grand  Seirjneur  near 
at  hand  to  trim  tliem  into  model  cottages  — 
It  is  so  hard  to  believe  what  goes  against 
one's  washes.  After  all,  perhaps,  the  end 
would  be  a  laugh,  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise, a  blessed  sense  of  relief;  and  no  dread- 
ftil  apparition  of  old  tics  and  old  vows  to 
bind  the  freed-man  over  again  in  cold  blood 
and  without  any  illusion.  Such  feverish 
hopes  came  into  Colin's  mind  against  his  will, 
as  they  drew  nearer.  The  road  was  as  dusty 
as  ever,  but  he  did  not  see  the  broad  mark 
of  the  carriage  wheels;  and  with  a  great 
throb  of  relief  found  when  they  came  in 
sight  of  the  little  inn  that  there  was  no  car- 
riage, nothing  but  a  former's  gig  before  the 
door.  lie  began  to  breathe  again,  throw- 
ing off  his  burden.  "It  might  be  one  of 
my  farmers  for  anything  one  could  tell  to 
the  conti-ary,"  said  Colin,  with  a  short  laugh 
and  a  sense  of  relief  past  describing.  "  You 
see  now  what  fools  we  were  to  suppose  — " 

At  that  moment,  however,  the  young  man 
stopped  short  in  the  midst  of  his  sentence. 
A  man  was  coming  to  meet  them  who  might 
have  been,  for  anything,  as  Colin  said,  that 
one  could  say  to  th^  contrary,  the  farmer  to 
whom  the  gig  belonged.  He  was  at  present 
but  a  black  figure  against  the  sunshine,  with 
his  face  shaded  by  his  hat;  but  notwith- 
standing Colin  stopped  short  when  he  came 
in  sight  of  him,  and  his  heart  stopped  beat- 
ing, —  or  at  least  he  thought  so.  He  had 
seen  this  man  once  in  his  life  before,  —  but 
once,  and  no  more.  But  there  are  some  cir- 
cumstances which  sharpen  and  intensify  the 
senses.  Colin  recognised  him  the  moment 
Lis  eyes  rested  on  him.  He  stopped  short, 
because  what  he  was  saying  was  proved  to 
be  folly,  and  worse  that  folly.  It  was  a  de- 
nial of  the  certainty  which  had  suddenly  ap- 
peared before  his  eyes.  He  stopped  without 
explaining  why  he  stopped,  and  made  a  step 
onwards  in  a  confused  and  bewildered  way. 
Henceforward  Lauderdale  had  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  It  was  Colin  himself  as  the  prin- 
cipal and  contracting  party  who  was  con- 
cerned. 

And  the  stranger,  for  his  part,  who  had 
also  seen  the  young  man  but  once  in  his 
life,  recognised  Colin.  It  had  only  been 
for  a  moment,  and  it  was  nearly  four  years 
ago,'  but  still  Mr.  Meredith  knew,  when  he 
saw  him,  the  young  man  whom  he  had  bid- 
den to  begone  for  a  fortune-hunter  ;  who  had 
closed  his  son's  eyes,  and  laid  Arthur  in  his  , 


grave ;  and  given  to  Alice  in  her  desolation 
the  tenderest  guardianship.  He  did  not 
know  Lauderdale,  who  had  his  share  in  all 
but  the  last  act  of  that  sad  little  domestic 
drama ;  but  he  recognised  Colin  by  intuition, 
lie  came  forward  to  him  with  the  courtesy 
of  a  man  whom  necessity  compels  to  change 
all  his  tactics.  "  Mr.  Campbell,  I  think  V  " 
he  said.  "  I  feel  that  I  cannot  be  mistak- 
en. Alice  was  sure  she  saw  you  on  the 
road.  I  came  back  after  I  had  taken  her 
home,  to  try  whether  I  could  meet  you. 
Will  you  do  me  the  favour  to  introduce  me 
to  your  friend.  .  I  believe  I  am  almost  as 
much  indebted  to  him  as  to  you." 

"  There  is  no  debt  on  one  side  or  the  oth- 
er," said  Lauderdale,  interposing,  for  Colin 
found  it  difficult  to  speak.  "  Tell  us  how 
she  is,  which  is  far  more  important.  We 
heard  her  give  a  cry,  and  since  then  we've 
been  hurrying  on  to  see." 

"  She  is  not  at  all  well,"  said  Mr.  Mere- 
dith. "  I  hope  you  will  consent  to  gratify 
my  daughter  by  going  back  to  dine  with  me. 
My  house  is  close  by  here,  and  I  came  on 
purpose.  Mr.  Campbell,  you  may  think 
you  have  a  just  grievance  against  me.  I 
hope  you  will  overlook  it  at  present,  and 
hear  my  explanation  afterwards.  "We  can 
never  be  sufficiently  grateful  ibr  all  you 
have  done  for  my  son,  both  before  his 
death  and  after.  It  was  a  terrible  dispen- 
sation of  Providence;  but  I  cannot  be 
thankful  enough  that  my  poor  boy  lived  to 
produce  a  work  which  has  been  of  value  to 
so  many ;  and  but  for  you  it  never  could 
have  been  successfully  published.  I\Iy  dear 
sir,  I  hope  you  will  not  suffer  any  personal 
feeling  to  me  —  I  beg  you  to  believe  that 
what  I  said  was  said  in  ignorance  —  I  mean, 
I  trust  that  you  will  not  refuse  to  gratify 
Alice.  She  is  almost  all  I  have  left,"  Mr. 
Meredith  said,  with  a  faltering  voice.  "  I 
have  had  great  losses  in  my  family.  She 
has  not  been  so  much  intei'ested  about  any- 
thing for  a  long  time.  You  will  come  with 
me,  will  you  not,  for  Arthur's  and  for  my 
daughter's  sake  ?  " 

If  any  man  could  have  said  No  to  that 
appeal,  Colin  was  not  the  man.  He  made 
little  answer  except  by  a  bow,  and  ]\Ir. 
Meredith  turned  with  them,  and  they  all  got 
into  the  country  vehicle  at  the  door  of  the 
little  inn,  and  drove  off  silent  enough  to 
the  house  where  Alice  was  awaiting  them. 
Colin  had  scarcely  a  word  to  say  as  he  drove 
along  by  her  father's  side.  The  gaiety,  and 
freedom,  and  happy  thoughts  with  which  he 
had  set  out  on  liis  journey  seemed  to  de- 
tach themselves  from  his  mind,  and  abandon 
him  one  by  one.     His  fate  had  encountered 


A     SON      OF     THE     SOIL. 


225 


him  where  ho  had  least  expectation  of 
meeting  it.  And  yet  at  the  same  time  a 
compunction  awoke  in  his  heart  to  think 
that  it  was  in  this  way,  like  a  captive 
brought  back  to  her  presence,  that  the  man 
whom  Alice  loved  was  going  to  her.  He 
could  have  felt  aggrieved  and  angry  for  her 
sake,  if  the  claim  of  his  own  reluctance  and 
dread  had  not  been  nearer,  and  gained  upon 
the  more  generous  feeling.    And  yet  withal 

15 


he  had  a  longing  to  see  her,  a  kind  of  incli- 
nation to  carry  her  off  from  this  man,  who 
had  but  a  secondary  claim  upon  her,  and 
heal  and  cherish  the  wounded  dove.  It 
was  this  singular  chance  which  changed  the 
course  of  the  excursion  which  the  two 
friends  had  planned  into  the  lake  country, 
and  made  that  holiday  expedition  of  so 
much  importance  in  the  history  of  Colin's 
life. 


226 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


PART  XVII. —  COXCLUSION. 
CHAPTER  XLIX. 

"  HoLMBY  is  not  my  house,"  said  Mr. 
Meredith,  as  they  drove  up  the  avenue ;  "  I 
took  it  to  please  Alice.  She  has  a  fancy 
for  the  North  now,  as  she  used  to  have  for 
the  South."  As  he  said  this  he  gave  a 
wistful  side-glance  at  Colin,  who  had  scarce- 
ly spoken  during  all  the  drive ;  and  even 
to  this  speech  the  young  man  made  little 
response.  The  house  was  a  pale  gray 
house,  of  rough  limestone,  like  the  humbler 
houses,  surrounded  with  wood,  and  bearing 
anything  but  a  cheerful  aspect.  The  ave- 
nue was  long  and  straight,  and  the  cold 
commonplace  outline  of  this  secluded  dwell- 
ing-place filled  up  the  vista  between  the 
two  dark  lines  of  trees,  growing  gradually 
more  distinct  as  they  approached.  Every- 
thing had  a  certain  visionary  aspect  to 
Colin  at  this  moment,  and  the  look  of  the 
house  irritated  him,  as  if  it  had  been  a  tj-pe 
of  the  commonplace  existence  which  he 
was  hencefoi'ward  to  lead.  He  could  not 
keep  the  cloud  that  was  on  his  mind  from 
appeai-ing  also  on  his  countenance,  though, 
at  the  same  time,  he  could  not  help  observ- 
ing that  IMr.  Meredith  looked  at  him  often 
with  a  regard  that  was  almost  pathetic. 
To  be  sure,  there  was  nothing  very  eleva- 
ted in  the  aspect  of  this  man,  whose  history 
was  not  one  which  Colin  liked  to  think  of; 
but  still  it  was  evident  that  his  heart  was 
trembling  for  his  child,  and  that  he  was 
conveying  to  her  the  lover  whom  he  had 
once  rejected  and  insulted,  as  he  might 
have  carried  a  costly  medicine,  hard  to 
procure,  and  of  doubtful  efficacy,  but  still 
the  only  thing  that  there  was  any  hope  in. 
Colin  recognized  this  wistful  look  by  the 
freemasonry  of  a  mind  equally  excited, 
though  in  a  different  way ;  and,  as  for  Lau- 
derdale, he  looked  on  at  both  with  a  pain- 
ful doubt  and  uncertainty  which  had  never 
yet  entered  into  his  thoughts  in  respect  to 
Colin.  For  all  this  time  he  had  been  try- 
ing to  think  it  was  Alice's  father,  or  even 
Alice  herself,  who  was  to  blame ;  and  now 
only  he  began  to  see  clearly  the  reluctance 
of  his  friend  to  its  fullest  extent  —  his  re- 
luctance and,  at  the  same  time,  that  almost 
fantastic  honour  and  delicacy  which  kept 
the  young  man  from  avowing  even  to  his 
closest  companion  the  real  state  of  his  feel- 
ino's.  So  that  now,  at  the  first  moment  for 
a  long  time  in  which  the  fulfilment  of 
Colin's  engagement  began  to  appear  pos- 
sible, Lauderdale,  who  had  preached  to 
him  of  constancy,  who  had  longed  after 
Alice,  who  had  taken  every  opportunity  of 


directing  to  her  the  truant  thoughts  of  his 
friend,  for  the  first  time  faltered.  He  be- 
gan to  see  the  other  side  of  the  question 
just  at  the  time  when  it  would  have  been 
agreeable  to  ignore  it.  He  saw  not  only 
that  Colin's  happiness  was  at  stake,  but 
that  it  would  be  better  for  Alice  even  to 
break  her  heart,  if  that  was  inevitable, 
than  to  be  man-icd,  not  for  love,  but  for 
honour;  and  unhappily  he  recognized  this 
just  at  the  moment  when  Sir  Bayard,  Sir 
Quixote,  whatever  absurd  title  you  may 
please  to  give  him  —  the  Mistress's  son, 
who  was  incapable  of  leaving  a  woman 
in  the  lurch,  or  casting  upon  her  the  shame 
of  rejection  —  was  going  on  to  meet  his 
fate.  From  this  it  will  be  seen  that  it  was 
a  very  subdued  and  silent  party  which  was 
at  this  moment  driving  along  the  long  ave- 
nue under  the  trees,  and  making  Alice's 
heart  beat,  in-doors  on  her  sofa,  with  every 
turn  of  those  wheels  on  the  gravel.  "  Is 
papa  alone  ?  "  she  asked  of  her  little  sister, 
who  was  at  the  window ;  and  her  heart  was 
jumping  up  into  her  throat  when  she  ut- 
tered that  simple  question,  as  if  it  would 
take  away  her  breath.  When  she  received 
for  answer  a  lengthened  and  inteiTupted 
description  of  the  two  gentlemen  who  ac- 
companied Mr.  Meredith,  Alice  put  her 
head  back  on  her  pillows  and  closed  her 
eyes  in  the  sudden  faintness  of  her  great 
joy.  For  she  in  her  simplicity  had  no 
doubt  about  Colin.  If  he  had  not  loved 
her  he  would  not  have  turned  back;  he 
would  never  have  come  to  her.  It  was 
the  tender  guardian  of  her  loneliness,  the 
betrothed  in  whom  she  had  reposed  the  en- 
tire faith  of  her  nature,  whom  her  father 
was  bringing  back  to  her;  and,  so  far  as 
AUce  was  concerned  at  this  moment,  the 
four  intervening  years  had  no  existence. 
She  had  seen  nobody  and  done  nothing 
during  that  dreary  intei-wil.  Ill-health, 
and  seclusion,  and  mourning,  had  made  it 
appear  to  her  that  her  life  had  temporarily 
stopped  at  the  time  when  ]\Ii-.  Meredith 
carried  her  off  from  Frascati.  And  now, 
with  Colin,  life  and  strength  and  individu- 
ality were  coming  back.  This  was  how 
the  matter  appeared  on  her  side  of  affairs, 
and  it  seemed  to  Alice  the  natural  solution 
of  the  difficulty  ;  for,  after  all,  but  for  her 
father's  cruel  persistence  against  her,  which 
Providence  by  many  blows  had  broken  and 
made  to  yield,  she  would  have  been  Colin's 
wife  for  all  those  years.  And  now,  the 
one  obstacle  being  removed,  it  seemed  only 
natural  to  her  straightforward  and  simple 
intelligence  that  the  long-deferred  conclu- 
sion should  arrive  at  last. 


A    SON     OF    THE    SOIL. 


Both  she  and  the  little  sister  at  the  win- 
dow were  in  mourning.  Mrs.  Meredith 
was  dead  —  the  stepmother,  who  had  been 
Alice's  greatest  enemy ;  and,  of  all  the 
children  who  had  once  made  their  father 
indifferent  to  his  elder  son  and  daughter, 
the  only  one  left  was  the  little  girl,  who 
was  giving  her  sister  an  elaborate  descrip- 
tion of  the  gentlemen  who  were  with  papa. 
This  was  why  Mr.  Meredith  had  yielded. 
Alice  judged,  according  to  her  simple  reck- 
onings, with  a  little  awe  of  the  terrible 
means  employed,  that  it  was  Providence 
who  had  thus  overturned  her  father's  res- 
olution, and  made  him  yielding  and  ten- 
der. It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  ask  wheth- 
er for  her  happiness  it  was  just  or  reason- 
able that  so  many  should  suffer ;  she  only 
accepted  it  as  providential,  just  as  Colin 
four  years  before  had  persuaded  himself 
that  all  the  circumstances  which  had  thrown 
them  together  were  providential.  And 
now  the  climax,  which  the  poor  girl  per- 
mitted herself  to  think  God  had  been 
bringing  about  by  all  the  family  convul- 
sions of  these  four  years,  came  close,  and 
the  heart  of  Alice  grew  faint  with  thank- 
fulness and  joy.  When  she  heard  them 
coming  up  stairs  she  sat  upright,  recover- 
ing with  her  old  force  of  self-restraint  her 
composure  and  calmness.  Mr.  Meredith 
came  in  with  a  little  bustle  to  spare  his 
daughter  the  agitation  of  the  meeting. 
"  You  were  quite  right,  Alice,  my  love," 
he  said,  bringing  them  hurriedly  up  to  her. 
"  Here  is  Mr.  Campbell  and  your  friend, 
Mi\  Lauderdale.  They  recognized  you  at 
the  same  minute  as  you  recognized  them  ; 
and,  if  I  had  not  been  so  foolish  as  to  tell 
John  to  drive  on,  we  might  have  picked 
them  up  and  saved  them  their  walS.  I 
thought  she  was  ill,"  the  anxious  father 
continued,  turning  his  back  upon  Ahce, 
and  occupying  himself  with  Lauderdale. 
"  She  had  a  fainting  fit  yesterday,  and  I 
was  frightened  it  was  that,  or  I  should  have 
stopped  and  picked  you  up.  We  are  a 
little  dark  here  with  all  these  trees.  I 
would  have  them  cut  down  if  Holmby  was 
mine;  but  at  this  window,  if  you  are  fond 
of  fine  scenery,  I  can  show  you  a  beautiful 
view." 

And  It  was  thus  that  the  two,  who  parted 
at  Frascati  as  lovers  within  a  few  weeks  of 
their  marriage,  met  In  the  shaded  drawing- 
room  at  Holmby.  The  most  exciting  events 
of  Colln's  life  were  framed  within  the  in- 
terval ;  but  nothing  had  happened  individ- 
ually to  Alice.  He  leeemed  to  find  her 
exactly  where  he  had  left  her,  though  with 
the  sense  of  having  himself  travelled  to  an 


227 


unutterable  distance  In  the  meantime.  She 
did  not  say  much  in  the  tumult  and  con- 
fusion fef  her  joy ;  she  only  held  out  her 
hand  to  him,  and  lifted  her  soft  eyes  to  his 
face  with  a  look  of  su2:)reme  content  and 
satisfaction,  which  had  the  strangest  effect 
upon  Colin.  He  felt  his  doom  fixed  for 
ever  and  ever  as  he  looked  into  the  gentle 
blue  eyes  which  conveyed  to  him  all  that 
was  In  Alice's  heart.  And  she  had  not 
the  slightest  suspicion  of  the  heaviness  that 
was  in  his  as  he  drew  a  chair  near  her 
sofa.  "  At  last ! "  she  said  softly,  under 
her  breath.  The  little  sister  stood  by, 
looking  on  with  round  eyes  opened  to  their 
widest ;  but,  as  for  Alice,  she  had  no  con- 
sciousness of  any  presence  but  one.  And 
Colin  sat  down  by  her  without  any  answer. 
In  his  heart  not  knowing  what  to  say.  Her 
black  dress,  her  languid  air,  the  paleness 
one  moment,  and  the  flush  of  delicate  col- 
our the  next,  all  moved  him  strangely. 
Even  had  he  not  been  Bayard  he  could  not 
have  done  anything  to  wound  the  fair, 
feeble  creature  who  looked  at  him  with 
her  heart  In  her  eyes.  And  naturally  the 
consequence  was,  that  Colin  answered  in 
a  way  far  more  decisive  than  any  words  — 
by  clasping  the  soft  clinging  hand,  and 
bending  down  to  kiss  it  as  in  the  old  Ital- 
ian days.  Alice  had  never  had  any  doubt 
of  her  betrothed,  but  at  that  moment  she 
felt  herself  receiving  the  pledge  of  a  new 
and  more  certain  troth  —  and  in  the  re- 
vulsion from  despondency  and  weakness 
her  mouth  was  opened  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life  —  opened  with  a  fullness,  the 
thought  of  which  would  have  covered  poor 
Alice  with  misery  and  confusion  if  she 
could  but  have  known  what  was  passing 
in  her  companion's  heart. 

"  I  had  grown  so  tired  of  waiting,"  she 
said,  scarcely  aware  that  she  was  speaking ; 
"  I  was  wearying,  wearying,  as  Mr.  Lauder- 
dale used  to  say  ;  and  to  think  you  should 
be  passing  so  near  and  perhaps  might  have 
passed  altogether,  and  never  have  known  I 
was  here  !  Oh,  Cohn,  it  was  Providence  ! " 
said  Alice,  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 

And  poor  Colin,  who  did  not  know  what 
to  say,  whose  heart  was  bursting  with  the 
profound  pity  and  instinctive  tenderness  of 
old,  and  with  that  sense  that  all  his  own  im- 
aginations were  ended  forever,  and  his  future 
decided  for  him  without  any  action  of  his 
own  —  Colin  could  find  no  answer  to  make. 
He  bent  down  again  on  the  pale,  soft  hand 
which  he  held  in  his  own,  and  kissed  it  once 
more,  with  that  tender  affection  which  was 
anything  In  the  world  but  love.  "  Yes,"  he 
said,  but  it  was  more  to  himself  than  to  her, 


228 


A    SON     OF    THE    SOIL. 


'•I  tffink  it  was  Providence."  Alice  had 
not  an  ear  tliat  could  hear  the  despair  that 
was  in  the  words  —  for  indeed  it  was  a  de- 
spair so  mingled  with  softer  emotions,  with 
sympathy  and  anxiety,  and  a  kind  of  fond- 
ness, that  nobody  could  have  found  it  out 
who  did  not  know  Colin  to  the  bottom  of  his 
heart.  This  was  how  the  meeting  was  ac- 
complished after  all  those  years  ;  lor  by  this 
time  Lauderdale  had  looked  at  the  view 
without  seeing  it,  and  was  returning  to  see 
how  his  fi-iend  had  gone  through  this  en- 
counter, and  to  claim  Ahce's  recognition  for 
himself.  The  two  spectators  who  approach- 
ed from  the  window,  whei'e  they  had  been 
pretending  to  look  at  the  view,  were,  to  tell 
the  truth,  as  much  agitated  as  the  young 
people  themselves.  Perhaps  even,  on  the 
whole,  a  stranger,  not  knowing  anything 
about  the  matter,  would  have  concluded  that 
it  was  Lauderdale  and  Mr.  Meredith  who 
wei'e  moved  the  most ;  for  perhaps  there  is 
nothing  which  can  happen  to  one's  self, 
which  moves  one  so  profoundly  as  to  watch 
a  crisis  of  fate  passing  over  another  human 
creature  whom  one  loves,  yet  whom  one 
cannot  die  for  or  suffer  for,  and  whose  bur- 
den has  to  be  borne,  not  by  us,  but  by  him- 
self. Alice's  father,  for  his  part,  looked  up- 
on this  meeting  somehow  as  his  child's  last 
chance  for  life,  or  rather,  it  would  be  better 
to  say,  as  his  own  last  chance  to  save  her  life 
and  preserve  her  to  himself;  and  Lauderdale 
saw  Colin's  happiness,  which  was  almost  of 
more  importance  than  his  life,  hanging  uj.on 
the  doubtful  expression  in  the  sick  girl's 
eyes.  Whep  the  two  turned  back,  it  was 
impossible  to  mistake  the  sweet  joy  and  se- 
renity of  Alice's  looks.  Excitement  was 
unnatural  to  her  In  all  circumstances.  She 
had  been  agitated  profoundly  for  a  moment ; 
but  now  all  that  was  over,  and  the  content 
of  old  had  returned  to  her  face.  The  same 
look  that  Lauderdale  remembered  at  Fras- 
cati  —  the  look  which  greetedi  Colin's  arriv- 
al — ■  not  any  tumult  of  deUght,  but  a  su- 
preme satisfaction  and  completeness,  as  if 
there  remained  nothing  more  in  the  world 
to  be  looked  for  or  desired  !  She  half  rose 
up  to  meet  her  old  friend  as  he  came  back 
to  her,  himself  greatly  moved,  and  not  ven- 
turing to  look  at  Colin,  and  held  out  both 
her  hands  to  him.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Lauderdale,  I 
have  not  told  you  how  glad  I  am,  nor  how  I 
have  been  toearjjing"  said  Alice.  She  said 
even  that  word  —  the  word  she  had  once 
laughed  at  —  as  if  with  a  soft  appeal  to  his 
recollection.  She  had  said  it  so  often  to 
herself  in  those  long  years  —  half  because 
it  was  Scotch,  and  pleased  her  yearning 
fancy ;  and  half  because  there  was  a  linger- 


ing depth  of  expression  in  it,  like  her  long 
watch  and  vigil.  And  then  she  smiled  in 
his  face,  and  then  cried  a  little.  For  not- 
withstanding her  tranquillity,  all  this  had 
tried  her  weakness,  and  proved  a  little  more 
than  she  could  bear. 

"  You  must  not  agitate  yourself,  Alice," 
said  Mr.  Meredith,  taking,  as  most  men  do, 
the  result  of  her  past  agitation  for  the  thing 
itself.  "  She  is  still  a  little  weakly,  but  I 
hope  now  we  shall  soon  see  her  strong  again." 
This  he  said  with  again  a  covert  glance  at 
Colin,  who  was  still  sitting  close  to  the  sofa 
of  Alice,  with  his  face  shaded  by  liis  hand. 
Notwithstanding  that  shade  the  young  man 
knew  by  instinct  the  look  that  was  being  di- 
recited  upon  him,  and  turned  to  meet  it ;  and 
on  his  face  there  were  greater  marks  of  agi- 
tation than  on  that  of  Alice,  which  had  been 
relieved  by  her  tears.  He  was  pale,  and  to 
Lauderdale's  anxious  eyes  seemed  to  have 
fallen  back  from  his  vigour  of  manhood  for 
the  moment  into  that  unassured  youth  which 
he  had  left  behind  him  for  years.  And  then 
the  voice  of  Mr.  Meredith  had  an  effect  up- 
on Colin's  mind  altogether  different  from 
that  produced  by  the  so^'t  familiar  tones  of 
Alice.  When  the  father  spoke,  Colin's 
heart  shut  fast  its  doors,  and  rose  up  against 
the  impending  fate. 

"  If  Miss  Meredith  was  ill,"  he  said,  with 
a  little  bitterness,  taking  at  least  advantage 
of  the  rights  thus  pressed  back  upon  him  to 
repulse  this  man,  whom  he  could  not  help 
dishking  in  his  heart,  "  I  am  surprised  that 
you  did  not  let  me  know." 

This  speech  was  so  unexpected  and  sud- 
den, and  there  was  in  it  such  an  amount  of 
suppressed  exasperation,  that  Lauderdale 
made  a  step  forward  without  knowing  it,  and 
Alice"  put  out  her  hand  vaguely  to  arrest  the 
vehemence  of  her  betrothed.  As  for  "Mx. 
Meredith,  he  was  as  much  relieved  by  the 
assumption  of  right  in  Colin's  words,  as  he 
was  disturbed  by  his  unfi'iendly  tone. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  father,  "  I  hope 
you  will  let  bygones  be  bygones.  I  have 
learned  many  severe  lessons,  and  Providence 
has  dealt  with  me  in  a  way  to  make  me  see 
my  errors ;  but  I  can  safely  say  that,  since  I 
understood  the  true  state  of  the  case,  I  have 
always  reproached  myself  for  not  having 
shown  the  gratitude  I  felt  to  you." 

Colin,  for  his  part,  did  not  make  any  an- 
swer. His  temper  was  disturbed  by  the 
struggle  he  had  been  going  through.  He 
could  not  cry  and  get  over  it,  like  Alice ; 
being  a  man  it  was  only  in  this  way  that  he 
could  give  a  little  vent  to  his  feelings.  And 
then  he  could  relieve  himself  by  putting  out 
some  of  his  pain  upon  INIr.  Meredith,  with- 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


229 


out  injury  to  her  who  had  thus  thrown  her- 
self undoubtingly  upon  his  love,  as  she  sup- 
posed. Perhaps  Bayard  himself,  under  the 
same  circumstances,  would  have  done  as 
much. 

"  I  may  say,  my  gi-atitude  to  both,"  said 
Mr.  Meredith,  whose  anxiety  that  he  might 
not  lose  this  chance  for  Alice  was  so  great 
that  it  made  him  alnaost  smile,  and  who 
could  not  help  recollecting  at  that  inoppor- 
tune moment  the  letter  he  had  written  to 
Lauderdale ;  "  I  know  that  Mr.  Lauderdale 
also  was  very  kind  to  my  poor  boy.  I  hope 
you  will  both  excusQ  the  error  of  the  mo- 
ment," he  said,  faltering  a  little.  It  was 
hard  to  own  himself  altogether  in  the  wrong, 
and  yet  in  his  anxiety  he  would  have  done 
even  that  for  Alice's  sake. 

"  Speak  no  more  of  that,"  said  Lauder- 
dale. "  Our  friend  Arthur  spoke  of  his 
father  with  his  last  breath,  and  we're  no  like 
to  forget  any  of  his  words.  It's  an  awfu' 
consolation  to  my  mind  to  see  her  again,  and 
to  feel  that  we're  a'  friends.  As  for  Cohn, 
he's  a  wee  out  of  himself,  as  is  natural.  I 
would  have  been  real  vexed,"  said  the  phil- 
osopher, with  the  smile  that  was  half  tears, 
■and  that  Alice  remembered  so  well,  "  being 
sure  of  Arthur  for  a  fast  fiiend  whenever 
we  may  meet  again,  to  have  lost  all  sight 
and  knowledge  of  you. ' 

He  looked  at  Alice,  but  it  was  to  Arthur's 
father  that  he  held  out  his  hand  ;  and,  as 
for  Colin,  it  was  impossible  for  him  not  to 
follow  the  example,  though  he  did  it  with  a 
certain  reluctance  which  did  not  escape  any 
of  the  spectators.  And  then  they  all  made 
believe  to  be  composed  and  at  their  ease, 
and  began  to  talk,  forming  a  little  circle  round 
Alice's  sofa,  outside  of  which  the  little  sister, 
with  her  eyes  open  to  their  widest  extent,  still 
stood,  drinking  in  everything,  and  wonder- 
ing much  what  it  could  mean. 

"  And,  now  that  we  have  you,"  said  Mr. 
Meredith,  "we  cannot  let  you  go  again. 
You  can  go  to  Windermere,  and  any  other 
place  worth  seeing,  from  Holmby.  You 
must  tell  me  where  to  send  for  your  things, 
and  we  will  try  to  make  you  corafortable 
here." 

"  We  have  no  things  but  those  we  carry 
with  us,"  said  Colin.  "  We  are  pedestrians, 
and  not  fit  for  ladies'  society.  I  am  afraid 
we  must  go  upon  our  dusty  way,  and  re- 
turn again,"  he  added,  with  an  involunta- 
ry glance  at  Alice,  It  was  because  he 
thought  he  was  failing  of  his  duty  that  he 
said  these  last  words ;  but  they  were  unne- 
cessary so  far  as  Alice  were  concerned,  who 
had  no  suspicions,  and,  mcst  likely,  if  she 
had  known  his  secret,  would  not  have  un- 


derstood it.  It  did  not  come  into  her  head 
as  a  possible  idea  that  he  would  thus  have 
come  to  her  again  and  accepted  his  old  po- 
sition had  he  not  loved  her;  and  in  her 
truthfulness  she  had  the  superiority  over 
Colin,  notwithstanding,  perhaps,  that  his 
motives  were  of  a  higher  order,  and  his 
mode  of  thinking  more  exalted  than  any- 
thing that  could  ever  have  come  into  her 
honest  and  simple  mind. 

"  Oh,  we  will  -put  up  with  your  dress,"  said 
Mr.  Meredith,  putting  on  a  heartiness  that 
was  scarcely  natural  to  him.  "  We  can  be 
tolerant  on  that  point.  I  will  give  orders 
directly  about  your  rooms.  Alice  is  not 
well  enough  to  see  visitors,  and  your  coats  do 
not  matter  to  her,"  he  went  on,  with  a  little 
laugh  ;  not  that  he  was  merry,  poor  man, 
but  that,  like  all  the  rest,  he  was  agitated, 
and  did  not  know  how  to  give  it  vent. 
As  for  Alice,  she  did  not  say  anything,  but 
she  turned  her  soft  eyes  upon  Colin  with  a 
look  that  seemed  to  caress  him  and  his  dusty 
vestments.  If  he  had  been  in  the  roughest 
peasant's  dress,  it  would  not  have  made  any 
difference  to  Alice.  Her  soft,  tranquil  eyes 
rested  upon  him  with  that  content  and  satis- 
faction which  are  the  highest  compliments 
that  eyes  of  woman  can  make  to  man.  When 
he  was  there  she  had  no  longer  any  occasion 
to  look  into  the  world,  or  seek  further;  and 
she  could  not  but  smile  at  the  idea  that  his 
dusty  coat  mattered  anything.  Thus  it  was 
that  everything  was  settled  before  CoHn  knew 
what  was  being  done.  The  sun  was  still 
high  in  the  heavens  when  he  found  himself 
established  at  Holmby,  by  Alice's  side,  an 
inmate  of  her  father's  house  ;  he  who  had 
got  up  that  morning  with  the  idea  that  he 
was  entirely  sundered  from  his  old  ties,  and 
that  nothing  in  the  world  was  so  impossible 
as  such  a  return  upon  the  past.  Even  now, 
when  it  had  taken  place,  he  did  not  believe 
it  was  true  or  possible,  but  sat  as  in  a  dream, 
and  saw  the  fair  shadow  of  the  Alice  of  Fras- 
cati  moving  and  speaking  like  a  phantom. 
Would  it  remain  for  ever,  looking  at  him 
with  the  soft  eyes  which  he  felt  ashamed  to 
meet,  and  to  which  he  could  make  so  little 
response  ?  A  kind  of  despair  came  over 
Colin  as  the  slow  afternoon  waned,  and  the 
reality  of  the  vision  began  more  and  more  to 
force  itself  upon  him.  Everything  was  so 
frightfully  true  and  natural,  and  in  reason. 
He  had  to  baffle  not  only  the  eyes  of  Alice, 
but  those  of  Lauderdale,  who,  he  felt  sure 
by  instinct,  was  watching  him,  though  he 
never  could  catch  him  in  the  act,  and  put 
him  down  as  of  old  by  the  broad,  full,  half- 
defiant  look  which  he  had  learned  was  his 
best  shield  against  all  question.    Lauderdale 


230 


A     SON     OF     THE     SOIL. 


had  grown  too  skilful  to  subject  himself  to 
that  repulse,  and  yet  Colin  knew  that  his 
friend  observed  his  smallest  action,  and 
heard  every  word  he  was  saying,  however 
distant  he  might  be.  And  thus  the  day  pass- 
ed on  in  a  kind  of  distracting  vision;  and 
they  all  dined  and  talked,  and  looked,  as  it 
is  the  duty  of  any  party  of  people  in  Eng- 
land to  look,  exactly  as  if  they  had  been  all 
their  lives  together,  and  it  was  the  most  nat- 
ural thing  in  the  world. 

CHAPTER    L. 

The  evening  passed  on,  Colin  could  not 
very  well  tell  how ;  and  he  began  to  see  a 
prospect  of  escaping  a  little,  and  gaining  a 
moment's  breathing  time,  to  realize,  if  he 
could,  the  astonishing  revolution  which  had 
taken  place.  Alice,  who  was  an  invalid, 
retired  early ;  and  after  that  the  conversa- 
tion had  flagged,  and  the  three  men  who 
had  so  little  in  common,  and  who  had  been, 
on  the  sole  occasion  which  had  brought  them 
into  contact  with  each  other  before,  so  en- 
tirely in  opposition,  found  it  hard  to  know 
what  to  say,  so  as  to  cultivate  all  the  friend- 
ly feelings  that  were  possible,  and  dissipate 
the  disagreeable  reminiscences.  Mr.  Mere- 
dith betook  himself  to  the  only  subject  that 
seemed  to  him  possible  —  his  sou's  book, 
which  Colin  had  edited  so  carefully;  but 
then  it  is  already  known  to  the  readers  of 
this  history  that  Coliu's  opinions  were  by  no 
means  those  of  the  "  Voice  from  the  Grave." 
And  then  the  young  man  was  burning  to 
escape  —  to  get  out  of  doors  and  feel  the 
wind  on  his  face, 'and  endeavour  in  the  si- 
lence and  darkness  to  realize  his  position. 
He  had  to  escape  not  only  from  Mr.  Mere- 
dith, who  watched  him  with  the  anxiety  of 
a  man  who  fears  to  see  his  last  hope  escape 
him,  but  also  from  Lauderdale,  who  was 
concerned  less  for  Alice  than  for  Colin,  and 
whose  anxiety,  now  that  his  mind  had  been 
fully  awakened,  was  as  great  that  Colin 
should  not  risk  his  own  happiness,  as_  was 
Mr.  Meredith's  anxiety  that  the  happiness 
of  Alice  should  be  secured.  Of  the  two,  it 
was  the  latter  whom  Colin  could  meet  with 
most  ease  ;  for  it  was  no  way  necessary  that 
he  should  open  his  heart  to  a  man  who  sought 
him  only  as  he  might  have  sought  a  physician, 
and,  indeed,  there  was  a  certain  _  relief  to 
his  mind  in  the  expression  of  some  irritation 
and  resentment  towards  Mr.  Meredith,  who 
had  once  insulted  him,  and  was  friendly 
now  only  from  the  most  interested  motives. 
When  he  at  last  found  it  possible  to  leave 
the  room  where  he  was  sitting,  and  had  ac- 
tually opened  the  door  to  escape  into  the 


open  air,  it  was  Mr.  Meredith  who  detained 
him.  "  Pardon  me,"  he  said  ;  "  but,  if  you 
would  but  give  me  five  minutes  in  my  own 
room  —  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  you." 
Colin  was  obliged  to  yield,  though  his  impa- 
tience was  unspeakable ;  and  he  followed 
Mr.  Meredith  into  the  library,  which,  like 
all  the  other  rooms  in  the  house,  was  but 
partially  lighted.  Here  Alice's  father  gave 
his  guest  a  chair,  with  solemnity,  as  for  an 
important  conference,  and  this  was  more 
than  Colin's  powers  of  self-restraint  could 
bear. 

" I  cannot  a^k  you  to  pardon  me"  he s^d, 
putting  his  hand  on  the  back  of  the  chair. 
"  You  will,  perhaps,  understand  that  all  that 
has  happened  to-day  has  disturbed  my  cal- 
culations a  little.  A  man  cannot  go  back 
four  years  of  his  life  in  so  unexpected  a  way 
without  feehng  a  little  off  his  equilibrium. 
May  I  ask  you  to  postpone  till  to-morrow 
what  you  have  to  say  ?  " 

"Only  a  moment  —  only  three  words," 
said  Mr.  IMeredith ;  "  I  hope  you  have  for- 
given me  for  the  mistake  which  I  have  re- 
gretted ever  since.  I  meant  no  slight  to 
you,  whom  I  did  not  know.  I  was  naturally 
excited  to  find  my  daughter  in  such  circum- 
stances ;  and,  Mr.  Campbell,  I  am  sure  you 
are  generous  ;  you  will  not  let  a  mere  mis- 
take prejudice  you  against  me." 

"  It  was  not  a  mistake,"  said  Colin  coldly ; 
"  you  were  right  enough  in  everything  but 
the  motives  you  imputed  to  me  ;  and  I  am 
almost  as  poor  a  man  now  as  I  was  then, 
with  very  little  chance  of  being  richer  —  I 
may  say,  with  no  chance,"  he  went  on,  with 
a  certain  pleasure  in  exaggerating  his  dis- 
advantages. "  A  Scotch  minister  can  make 
no  advance  in  his  profession.  Instead  of 
finding  fault  with  what  you  did  then,  I  feel 
disposed  to  bid^ou  weigh  well  the  circiun- 
stances  now." 

Mr.  Meredith  smiled,  with  a  little  air  of 
protection,  and  drew  a  long  breath  of  rehef. 
"  Alice  will  have  enough  for  both,"  he  said ; 
"  and  Providence  has  taught  me  by  many  se- 
vere lessons  the  vanity  of  riches.  She  wiU 
have  enough  for  both." 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  all  the  bitter- 
ness of  the  sacrifice  he  was  making  rushed 
upon  Cohn's  mind  —  rushed  upon  him  like 
a  flood,  quenching  even  the  natural  courtesy 
of  his  disposition,  and  giving  him  a  certain 
savage  satisfaction  in  wreaking  his  ven- 
geance upon  the  rich  man,  whose  riches  he 
despised,  and  whose  money  smelt  of  spolia- 
tion and  wrong.  All  the  silent  rage  against 
his  fiite  which  possessed  Colin  —  all  the  re- 
luctance and  disappointment  wliich  a  high- 
er principle  kept  in  abeyance  in  presence  of 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


231 


the  innocent  Alice  —  blazed  up  against  her 
father  in  a  momentary  glare  wliicli  appalled 
the  victim.  Colin  might  give  up  his  ideal 
and  his  dreams  for  tender  friendship  and 
honour  and  compassion ;  but  the  idea  of 
any  sordid  inducement  mingled  with  these 
motives  drove  him  the  length  of  passion. 
It  was,  however,  not  with  any  demonstra- 
tion, but  in  a  white  heat  of  bitterness  and 
angry  resistance  that  he  spoke. 

"  It  will  be  better  that  we  should  under- 
stand each  other  clearly  on  this  point,"  said 
Colin.  "  I  am  not  your  judge,  to  say  you 
have  done  well  or  ill ;  but  it  is  a  matter  on 
which  I  may  be  permitted  to  have  my  own 
opinion.  I  will  not  accept  a  shilling  of  your 
fortune.  If  Alice  is  content  to  have  me  as 
I  am,  she  shall  have  all  the  care,  all  the 
tenderness  that  I  can  give  her ;  but  —  par- 
don me,  it  is  necessary  to  speak  plainly  —  I 
will  take  nothing  from  you." 

Colin  stood  up  with  his  hand  on  the  back 
of  his  chair,  and  delivered  his  charge  full 
into  the  breast  of  his  unsuspecting  oppo- 
nent. Perhaps  it  was  cruel ;  but  there  are 
circumstances  under  which  it  is  a  relief  to 
be  cruel  to  somebody,  and  the  pain  in  his 
soul  found  for  itself  a  certain  expression  in 
these  words.  As  for  the  unhappy  victim 
who  received  them,  the  sense  of  surprise  al- 
most deadened  the  effect  for  the  moment ;  he 
could  not  believe  that  he  had  heard  rightly. 
Mr.  Meredith  was  of  the  Low  Church,  and 
was  used  to  say  every  day  that  wealth  was 
vanity,  and  that  the  true  treasure  had  to  be 
laid  up  above ;  but  still  his  experience  had 
not  shown  him  that  poor  young  priests  of 
any  creed  were  generally  so  far  moved  by 
these  sentiments  as  to  despise  the  fortune 
which  a  wife  might  bring  them.  He  was  so 
much  amazed  that  he  gave  a  gasp  of  con- 
sternation at  the  young  man  who  thus  de- 
fied him,  and  grew  not  pale  but  gray  with 
an  emotion  which  was  more  wonder  than 
anger.  But  Mr.  Meredith  was  not  a  bad  man, 
notwithstanding  that  he  had  ruined  several 
households,  and  made  himself  rich  at  other 
people's  expense ;  and,  even  had  he  felt  the 
lull  force  of  the  insult  personally,  his  anxiety 
about  Alice  would  have  made  him  bear  it. 
That  fatherly  dread  and  love  made  him  for 
the  moment  a  great  deal  more  Christian 
than  Colin,  who  had  thus  assaulted  him  in 
the  bitterness  of  his  heart. 

"  Mr.  Campbell,"  he  replied,  when  he  had 
sufficiently  recovered  himself  to  speak,  "  I 
don't  know  what  you  have  heard  about  me. 
I  don't  mean  to  enter  upon  any  defence  of 
myself.  My  poor  boy,  I  know,  misunder- 
stood some  transactions,  not  knowing  any- 
thing about  business.    But,  so  far  as  I  can 


see,  that  matters  very  little  between  you 
and  me.  I  have  explained  to  you  that  my 
conduct  in  reference  to  yourself  was  found- 
ed on  a  mistake.  I  have  expressed  my  grati- 
tude to  you  in  respect  to  my  son  ;  and  now, 
if  we  are  to  be  more  closely  connected  "  — 

_"  That  depends  upon  Miss  Meredith," 
said  CoHn,  hastily,  "You  have  opened 
your  doors  to  me  voluntarily,  and  not  by  my 
solicitation  ;  and  now  it  is  to  her  that  I  have 
a  right  to  address  myself  Otherwise  it 
would  have  been  better  if  you  had  not  asked 
me  to  come  here." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  saidMr.  Meredith.  He  thought 
he  saw  a  doubtful  gleam  in  Colin's  eye,  and 
an  accent  of  repugnance  in  his  voice,  and 
he  trembled  to  the'bottom  of  his  heart  lest 
perhaps,  after  all,  he  miglit  lose  this  chance 
of  preserving  his  daughter.  "  Yes,  yes,"  he 
said,  with  a  smile,  which  it  cost  him  a  little 
trouble  to  assume,  and  which  looked  horri- 
bly out  of.  place  to  Colin ;  "  I  ought  to  have 
learned  by  this  time  that  it  does  not  do  to 
interfere  between  lovers.  I  allow  that  it 
lies  entirely  between  her  and  you." 

He  might  have  said  a  great  deal  more  if 
his  young  hearer  would  have  given  him  time ; 
but  Colin  was  only  too  glad  to  escape.  The 
word  "  lovers  "  which  Mr.  Meredith  used, 
the  smile  whi(^  the  poor  man  was  so  far 
from  meaning,  the  lighter  tone  which  belied 
his  feehngs  quite  as  much  as  Colin's,  drove 
that  young  man  half  frantic  with  impatience 
and  disgust.  At  last  he  managed  to  get  his 
will,  and  escaped  out  of  doors,  with  the 
cigar  which  was  an  excuse  for  his  thoughts. 
The  night  was  dark,  and  agitated  by  a 
ghostly  wind,  and  the  country,  utterly  un- 
known, which  lay  round  the  house  in  the 
darkness,  and  which  neither  memory  nor  im- 
agination presented  to  the  mind  of  the 
stranger,  increased  the  natural  eifect  of  the 
gloom  and  the  solitude.  He  went  down 
through  the  long,  straight  opening  of  the 
avenue,  which  was  a  little  less  black  than 
the  surrounding  world,  with  a  sensation  of 
loneliness  which  was  as  strange  as  it  was 
painful.  He  did  not  seem  to  know  himself 
or  his  life  henceforward  any  more  than  he 
knew  the  wild,  strange  country  over  which 
the  night  and  the  wind  ruled  supreme.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if.  the  solace  of  friendship, 
the  consolation  of  sympathy,  was  also  ended 
forever  ;  he  could  not  talk,  even  to  those  who 
were  most  dear  to  him,  of  his  betrothed  or 
of  his  man-iage  —  if,  indeed,  that  was  what 
it  must  come  to.  He  had  walked  up  and 
down  the  avenue  two  or  three  times,  from 
one  end  to  another,  before  even  a  little  co- 
herence came  to  his  thoughts.  All  was  so 
strange  and  unbelievable  as  yet ;  so  like  a 


232 


A    SON     OF    THE    SOIL. 


trick  of  magic  played  upon  Lim  by  some 
malign  magician.  He  was  not  capable  of 
thinking ;  but  everything  passed  before  him 
like  a  vision,  appearing  and  disappearing 
out  of  the  darkness.  His  old  freedom,  his  im- 
pulses of  resolution,  the  force  and  fulness  of 
life  with  which  he  was  young  enough  to 
sport,  even  in  its  most  serious  strength,  and 
all  the  sweet  wealth  of  imagination  that  had 
lain  hoarded  up  for  him  among  the  clouds  — 
these  were  things  that  belonged  to  yesterday. 
To-night  it  was  another  world  that  seemed 
to  lie  before  him  in  the  gloom,  a  separate 
sphere  from  the  actual  world  in  which  he 
was  standing.  Vague  limitations  and  re- 
strictions which  he  could  not  identify  were 
awaiting  him,  and  he  saw  no  way  of  escap- 
ing, and  yet  did  not  know  how  he  was  to 
bear  the  future  thraldom,  ks  this  ferment 
calmed  down  a  little,  Colin  began  to  think 
of  Alice,  sweet,  and  patient,  and  dutiful  as 
she  always  was.  He  even  resented,  for  her 
sake,  his  own  indifference  and  repugnance, 
and  said  bitterly  to  himself  that  it  was  hard 
that  such  a  woman  should  be  accepted  as  a 
necessary  burden,  and  not  longed  for  as  a 
crown  of  blessing  ;  but  yet,  with  all  that,  he 
could  not  cheat  his  own  heart,  or  persuade 
himself  thathe  wanted  to  marry  her,or  thatit 
was  less  than  the  sacrifice  of  ^\\  his  individ- 
ual hopes  to  enter  again  upon  the  old  rela- 
tionship, and  fulfil  the  youthful  bond. 
When,  however,  he  attempted  to  ask  him- 
self if  he  could  escape,  the  same  heart  which 
sank  at  the  thought  of  this  bond  baffled 
and  stopped  him  m  his  question.  It  was 
not  the  same  case  as  that  of  Lancelot  and 
Elaine,  though  Colin  was  the  Lancelot  in  so 
far  that 

"  He  loved  her  with  all  love  except  the  love 
Of  men  and  women  when  they  love  the  best." 

But  then  it  was  he  who  had  knitted  in 
youthful  generosity  and  indiscretion  the 
chain  that  now  lay  on  his  limbs  like  iron. 
Alice  had  done  nothing  unmaidenly,  nothing 
that  in  all  honour  and  delicacy  she  ought 
not  to  have  done.  To  be  sure,  another  man 
as  honourable  as  Colin  might  have  given  her 
to  understand,  or  permitted  her  to  find  out, 
the  change  which  had  taken  place  in  his 
sentiments.  But  then  Colin  could  not  even 
assert  with  any  truth  that  his  sentiments  had 
changed.  For  he  was  almost  as  .conscious 
that  she  was  not  the  woman  of  his  imagina- 
tion when  he  led  her  home  from  the  ilex 
avenue  on  the  day  which  determined  their 
fortunes  as  he  was  now  after  the  long  sepa- 
ration which  had  not  broken  the  link  be- 
tween them.  He  had  known  in  his  heart 
that  it  was  not  broken,  even  when  he  had 


most  felt  his  freedom ;  and  now  what  could 
he  do  ?  Perhaps  that  morning,  after  the 
carriage  had  passed  him,  after  the  little  cry 
of  recognition  which  convinced  his  heart, 
but  which  his  mind  could  still  have  struggled 
against,  he  might  have  turned  back  as  he 
had  once  thought  of  doing,  and  fled  ignomin- 
iously.  But  that  moment  was  past,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  accept  the 
results  of  his  own  youthful  rasljness.  These 
were  the  thoughts  that  went  through  his 
mind  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the  avenue 
between  the  two  long  lines  of  trees,  hearing 
the  wind  roar  among  the  branches  overhead, 
and  feeling  that  henceforward  there  must 
always  be  a  secret  in  his  heart,  something 
which  nobody  must  discovei",  a  secret  which 
neither  now  nor  at  any  time  could  be 
breathed  into  any  sympathetic  ear.  This 
sense  of  something  to  conceal  weighed  hard- 
er upon  Colin  than  if  it  had  been  a  crime 
—  for  there  is  no  crime  so  terrible  but  a 
human  creature  may  entertain  the  hope 
some  time  of  relieving  his  mind  of  it,  and 
breathing  it  into  the  ear  of  some  confidant, 
covenanted  either  by  love  or  religion,  who 
will  not  sin-ink  from  him  in  consequence  of 
that  revelation.  The  sting  of  Colin's  burden 
was  that  he  could  never  relievehimself  of  it, 
that  all  the  questions  raised  by  it  must  abso- 
lutely confine  themselves  to  his  own  mind, 
and  must  lie  unnamed  and  even  unsuggested 
between  him  and  those  friends  from  whom 
he  had  never  hidden  anything  but  this.  All 
this  he  revolved  in  his  mind  as  he  contem- 
plated his  position.  So  far  from  seeking 
sympathy,  it  would  be  his  business  to  refuse 
and  ignore  it,  should  it  be  given  by  any 
implication,  and  to  seek  congratulations, 
felicitations,  instead.  All  this  he  was  going 
to  do  for  Alice's  sake  ;  and  yet  he  did  not 
love  Alice.  He  looked  up  at  a  faintly- 
lighted  window,  where  there  seemed  to  be 
a  shaded  light  as  in  an  invalid's  room,  and 
thought  of  her  with  a  mixture  of  bitterness 
and  sweetness,  of  tender  aff«ction  and  un- 
conquerable reluctance,  of  loyalty  almost 
fantastic,  and  the  most  painful  sense  of  hard- 
ship, which  it  would  be  impossible  to  de- 
scribe. She,  for  her  part,  was  lying  down 
to  rest  with  her  heart  full  of  the  sweetest 
content  and  thankfulness,  thinking  with 
!  thoughts  so  different  from  him  how  her  life 
j  had  changed  since  the  morning,  and  how 
the  almost-forgotten  sunshine  had  come  back 
again  to  remain  for  ever.  This  was  how 
I  Alice  was  looking  at  the  matter,  and  Cohn 
I  knew  it  in  his  heart.  If  she  could  but  walk 
out  of  that  soft  paradise  to  see  the  darkness 
I  and  the  turmoil  m  his  nund !  But  that  was 
\  what  she  must  never  find  out.     And  thus 


A     SON     OF    THE    SOIL. 


Colin  made  up  his  mind,  if  he  could  ever  be 
said  to  have  had  any  doubt  in  his  mind,  as 
to  what  was  to  be  done.  He  did  not  even 
cheat  himself  by  the  hope  that  anything 
could  happen  to  deliver  him.  It  was  Provi- 
dence, as  Alice  had  said.  Perhaps  it  might 
come  darkly  into  the  young  man's  mind  to 
wonder  whether  those  severe  lessons  which 
Mi\  Meredith  said  he  had  had  in  his  family, 
whether  all  those  fatal  losses  and  sorrows 
which  Alice  regarded  with  awe,  yet  with  a 
certain  devout  admiration,  as  God's  mysteri- 
ous way  of  bringing  about  her  own  happi- 
ness, could  be  considered  as  designed  to 
effect  tbat  end  which  did  not  make  him 
happy,  for  in  such  a  question,  personal  con- 
tent or  dissatisfaction  has  a  great  deal  to  do 
with  the  way  in  which  a  man  regards  the 
tenor  of  Providence.  Had  he  been  as  happy 
as  Alice  was,  perhaps  he  too  would  have 
concluded  that  this  was  but  another  instance 
how  all  things  work  together  for  good.  But, 
as  he  was  not  hap])y,  he  plunged  into  a 
world  of  more  painful  questions,  and  re- 
turned again  as  before,  always  at  the  end  of 
a  few  minutes,  after  his  favourite  specula- 
tions had  beguiled  him  for  a  little  out  of  the 
immediate  matter  in  hand,  to  realize,  as  if 
by  a  flash  of  lightning,  all  the  facts  of  the 
case,  and  all  the  necessities  before  him. 
There  may  be  many  people  who  will  con- 
demn Colin  both  for  remaining  indifferent 
to  Alice,  and  for  remaining  faithful  to  her 
in  his  indifference.  But  this  is  not  a  de- 
fence nor  eulogium  of  him,  but  simply  a 
history.  It  Avas  thus  his  mind  acted  under 
the  circumstances.  He  could  conduct  him- 
self only  according  to  his  own  nature  ;  and 
this  is  all  that  there  is  to  say. 

All  this  time  Lauderdale  was  standing 
at  his  window,  watching  in  the  darkness 
for  an  occasional  glimpse  of  something 
moving  among  the  trees.  He  had  put  out 
his  hght  by  instinct,  that  Colin  might  not 
think  he  was  being  watched.  He  kept 
looking  out  upon  the  wild  tree-tops  sway- 
ing about  in  the  wind,  and  upon  the  wild- 
er clouds,  dashed  and  heaped  about  the 
sky,  with  a  great  sadness  in  his  heart. 
Colin's  nature  was  not  like  his;  yet  by 
dint  of  a  sympathy  which  had  been  ex- 
panding and  growing  with  the  young  man's 
growth,  and  a  knowledge  of  him  and  his 
ways,  which  no  one  in  the  world  perceived 
to  the  same  extent,  Lauderdale  had  very 
nearly  divined  what  was  in  his  friend's 
heart.  He  divined  at  the  same  time  that 
he  must  never  divine  it,  nor  betray  by 
word  or  look  that  such  an  idea  had  ever 
entered  his  mind.  And  that  was  why  he 
put  his  light  out,  and,  watching  long  till 


233 


Colin  had  come  in,  said  his  prayers  in  the 
dark,  and  went  to  rest  without  seeking  any 
communication  with  him,  though  his  heart 
was  yearning  over  him.  It  was  Colin,  and 
not  Lauderdale,  who  was  J;he  hero  of  that 
silent  struggle.  Yet  perhaps  there  was  no 
single  pang  in  the  young  man's  suffering 
so  exquisite  as  that  which  thrilled  through 
his  companion  as  he  resigned  himself  to  an 
appearance  of  repose,  and  denied  himself 
so  much  as  a  look  at  his  friend,  to  whom  he 
had  been  like  a  father.  At  such  a  moment 
a  look  might  have  been  a  betrayal ;  and 
now  it  was  Lauderdale's  business  to  second 
Colin's  resolution  to  avoid  all  confidence, 
and  to  save  him  even  from  himself. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

After  this  agitated  night  the  morning 
came,  as  morning  has  a  knack  of  coming, 
with  that  calm  freshness  and  insouciance 
which  exasperates  a  mind  in  distress.  What 
does  Nature  care  about  what  happened 
last  night  or  may  happen  to-morrow?  If 
she  had  disturbed  herself  for  such  trifles 
she  must  have  died  of  it  in  her  first  thou- 
sand years.  The  new  day,  on  the  contrary, 
was  as  gay  and  as  easy  in  her  mind  as  if 
in  all  the  world  there  were  no  painful  puz- 
zles awaiting  her,  and  no  inheritance  of 
yesterday  to  be  disposed  of.  Somehow 
the  sight  of  that  fresh  and  joyous  hght 
revealed  to  Colin  the  looks  of  the  fair 
spring  mornings  in  Italy,  which  used  to 
burst  in  upon  Arthur's  deathbed  with  what 
always  seemed  to  him  a  look  of  careless 
surprise  and  inquiry.  But  Alice  for  her 
part  lound  a  tender  sweetness  in  the  new 
day.  All  that  was  bright  in  nature  came 
and  paid  court  to  her  by  reason  of  her 
happiness,  for  there  is  no  fair-weather 
friend  so  frank  in  her  intruded  attentions 
as  Nature,  though  it  is  happiness  and  not 
grandeur  to  which  she  attaches  herself. 
Alice  went  down  to  breakfast  that  morn- 
ing, which  she  had  not  been  able  to  do  for 
a  long  time.  She  had  laid  aside  her  black 
dress  by  instinct,  and  put  on  a  white  one, 
which  had  nothing  but  its  black  ribbons 
to  mark  it  as  mourning ;  and  there  was  a 
little  delicate  colour  on  her  cheek,  and  her 
eyes,  though  a  Httle  too  large  and  clear, 
had  a  glimmer  of  sunshine  in  them,  like 
the  light  in  a  dewdrop.  Coliii  would  have 
been  hard-hearted  indeed,  had  he  refused 
to  be  moved  by  that  tender  revival  of 
health  and  hope,  which  was  owing  to  him 
solely ;  and  his  friends  are  aware  tliat  Colin 
was  not  hai'dhearted.  He  was,  perhaps, 
even  more  thoughtful  of  her,  more  devoted 


234 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


to  her,  than  be  would  have  been  bad  the 
timidity  of  real  love  been  upon  him.  When 
the  breakfast  was  over  —  and  naturally 
there  was  still  a  certain  embarrassment 
upon  the  party  so  abruptly  united,  and 
made  up  of  elements  so  unlike  each  other 
—  Colin  and  Alice  were  left  together.  He 
proposed  to  her  to  go  out,  and  they  went 
out,  for  Alice  had  forgotten  all  about  the 
precautions  which  the  day  before  were  so 
necessary  for  her.  They  went  into  the 
avenue,  where  the  dayhght  and  the  sun- 
shine had  tamed  down  the  wind  into  a 
cheerful  breeze.  Nothing  of  the  landscape 
outside  was  to  be  seen  from  that  sheltered 
enclosure  —  no  more  than  could  have  been 
seen  through  the  close  shade  of  the  ilexes 
at  Frascati,  which  they  were  both  thinking 
of  as  they  strayed  along  under  the  shadow 
of  the  trees;  but  the  stately  elms  and 
green  transparent  lime-leaves  which  shad- 
owed the  avenue  of  Holmby  were  as  un- 
like as  could  be  supposed  to  the  closely- 
woven  sombre  green  which  shut  out  the 
overwhelming  sunshine  in  the  grounds  of 
the  Villa  Conti.  Here  the  sun  was  very 
supportable,  to  say  the  truth;  there  was 
no  occasion  to  shut  it  out,  and  even  when 
a  great  tree  came  in  the  way,  and  inter- 
fered with  it,  a  little  shiver  came  over  Alice. 
And  yet  it  was  June,  the  same  month  in 
which  they  had  wandered  through  the  ilex 
cloister,  and  watched  the  span  of  blue  sky 
blazing  at  the  end,  the  only  indication 
visible  that  the  great  shining  glowing  world 
lay  outside.  Colin  was  so  full  of  recollec- 
tions, so  full  of  thoughts,  that  at  first  he 
could  find  but  little  to  say;  and,  as  for 
Alice,  her  content  did  not  stand  in  need  of 
any  words  to  express  it.  And,  indeed, 
no  words  could  have  expressed,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  profound  remorseful  ten- 
derness, almost  more  tender  than  love  it- 
self, with  which  Colin  bent  over  her,  and 
held  her  supported  on  his  arm. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  ilexes  in  the 
Villa  Conti  ?  "  he  said.  "  It  was  about  this 
time,  was  it  not  ?  " 

"It  was  on  the  second  of  June,"  said 
Alice,  hastily.  She  was  half  vexed  that 
the  day  had  not  been  marked  by  him  as  by 
her.  "  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  every  twig,  I 
think,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  The  second 
of  June  was  on  a  Sunday  this  year.  I 
think  I  cried  nearly  all  day,  for  it  seemed 
as  if  you  never  would  come.  And  not  to 
know  where  you  were,  or  bow  you  wei-e, 
all  these  four  dreary,  dreary  years ! " 

What  could  Colin  do  ?  lie  pressed  the 
band  that  clung  to  bis  arm,  and  answered 
as  he  best  could,  touched  even  more  and 


more  with  that  tenderness  of  remorse  to- 
wards the  woman  who  loved  bim.  "  You 
know  it  was  not  any  fault  of  mine.  It  was 
your  father  who  sent  me  away." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Alice ;  "  it  was  that 
always  that  kept  me  up,  for  I  knew  yoii 
woiUd  not  change.  Poor  papa!  he 'has 
bad  such  dreadful  lessons.  Mrs.  Meredith, 
you  know,  and  the  poor  little  children  ! 
I  used  to  think,  if  God  would  only  have 
taken  me,  and  left  them  who  were  so  hap- 
py"  

And  here  there  was  a  little  pause,  for 
Alice  bad  some  tears  to  brush  away,  and 
Colin,  ever  more  and  more  attendri,  could 
not  but  offer  such  consolations  as  were 
natural  under  the  circumstances.  And  it 
was  Alice  who  resumed  after  that,  with  the 
simple  certainty  natural  to  her  mind. 

"  I  see  now  that  it  was  all  for  the  best," 
she  said ;  "  God  has  been  so  good  to  us. 
Oh,  Colin,  is  it  not  true  about  his  mysteri- 
ous ways  ?  And  that  everything  works  to- 
gether for  good,  though  it  may  seem  hard 
at  the  time  V  " 

Perhaps  Colin  found  it  difficult  to  answer 
this  question  ;  perhaps,  not  being  absorbed 
by  his  own  happiness,  he  could  not  but 
wonder  over  again  if  the  poor  Mrs.  Mere- 
dith and  her  children  who  were  dead  could 
have  seen  that  working  of  Providence  in 
the  same  light  as  Alice  did.  But  then  this 
was  not  a  subject  to  be  discussed  between 
two  lovers ;  and,  if  it  was  not  Providence 
who  bad  seized  upon  him  in  the  midst  of 
his  thoughtless  holiday,  and  brought  bim 
back  to  the  bonds  of  his  youth,  and  changed 
all  his  prospects  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  what  was  it  ?  Not  the  heathen  Fate, 
taking  a  blind  vengeance  upon  Folly, 
which  was  a  harder  thing  to  think  of  than 
the  ways,  however  mysterious,  of  God. 
These  were  not  thoughts  to  be  passing 
thi'ough  a  man's  mind  at  such  a  moment ; 
but  Colin  avoided  the  answer  which  was 
expected  of  bim,  and  plunged  into  more 
urgent  affairs. 

"  I  must*  go  away,"  be  said ;  "  do  not 
look  reproachful,  Alice.  I  do  not  mean  to 
continue  my  holiday  after  this.  It  seems  to 
me  we  have  waited  a  great  deal  too  long 
already."  Colin  went  on  with  a  smile, 
which  he  felt  to  be  forced,  but  which  had 
no  such  effect  upon  Alice.  "  Now  that  the 
obstacles  are  removed,  I  cannot  consent  to 
any  longer  delay ;  and  you  know  I  have  a 
bouse  to  take  you  to  now,  which  I  bad  not 
in  the  old  times." 

"  You  bad  always  Ramore,"  said  Alice ; 
and  the  way  in  which  she  said  it  proved  to 
him  still  once  more  that,  though  he  had  put 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


235 


her  out  of  his  mind,  Alice  had  forgotten 
nothing  he  had  ever  said  to  her.  She 
spoke  of  the  farmer's  homely  house  not  as 
of  a  place  which  she  heard  some  vague 
talk  of  so  many  years  ago,  but  as  a  home 
for  which  she  had  been  longing.  "And 
your  mother ! "  said  Alice ;  "  if  you  had 
the  most  beautiful  house  in  the  world,  I 
want  you  to  take  me  there  first  of  all ;  I 
want  you  to  take  me  to  her." 

It  will  be  seen  from  this  that  Alice  did 
not  think  there  was  anything  to  be  de- 
precated in  Colin's  haste.  She  accepted 
it  as  most  reasonable,  and  the  thing  that 
was  to  be  looked  foi*.  She  thought  it 
natural  that  he  should  be  reluctant  to  lose 
sight  of  her  again,  as  she,  for  her  part, 
was  very  reluctant  to  lose  sight  of  him ; 
and  thus  they  went  on  to  make  all  their 
necessary  arrangements.  In  this  close  and 
tender  interview,  as  he  saw  even  more 
and  more  how  Alice  depended  upon  him, 
how  real  the  link  between  them  had  been 
to  her  even  during  those  years  of  separa- 
tion, and  how,  in  her  perfect  good  faith  and 
simplicity,  she  considered  him,  and  aU  be- 
longing to  him,  as  hers,  Colin  himself  came 
to  consider  it  the  most  natural  and  unques- 
tionable conclusion.  The  pain  in  his  heart 
softened,  his  reluctance  seemed  to  melt 
away.  Alice  had  more  beauty  at  this  time 
of  her  hfe  than  ever  she  had  had  before. 
Her  weakness,  and  the  charm  of  that  hid- 
den love  which  had  been  so  long  working 
in  her,  and  which  had  now  brightened  into 
the  fullest  blossom,  had  given  an  expres- 
sion hitherto  wanting  to  her  eyes.  She 
was  more  individual  and  distinct  by  right 
of  having  kept  and  hoarded  that  individual 
attachment  in  her  heart,  in  defiance  of 
everything  that  could  be  done  against  it ; 
and  now  in  Colin's  presence,  believing  as 
she  did  with  that  confidence  which  can  be 
born  only  of  love,  in  his  entire  interest  in 
everything  connected  with  her,  her  timidity 
disappeared,  and  she  hourly  gained  interest 
and  character.  All  this  had  its  efl[ect  upon 
Colin  so  long  as  the  two  were  together, 
straying  through  the  avenue,  crossing  the 
bars  of  shade  and  the  rays  of  sunshine, 
listening  to  the  birds  singing  overhead  and 
to  the  rustle  of  the  summer  leaves.  It  was 
harder  work  when  they  went  indoors  again, 
when  Mr.  Meredith's  anxious  face  ap- 
peared, and  the  grave  countenance  of  Lau- 
derdale, carefully  cleared  of  all  anxiety, 
and  become,  so  far  as  that  was  possible, 
altogether  inexpressive.  Colin  was  of  so 
uncertain  a  mood  that  the  very  absence 
of  all  question  in  Lauderdale's  eyes  jarred 
upon  him,  though  he  could  not  have  borne 


to  be  interrogated.  He  was  high-fentasti- 
cal  beyond  all  previous  precedent  at  that 
moment;  and  the  readers  of  this  history 
are  aware  that  already,  at  various  periods 
of  his  life,  it  had  happened  to  him  to  be 
fantastical  enough.  The  conversation  and 
confidences  of  the  avenue  broke  clean  off 
when  the  party  were  all  assembled  within. 
Alice  could  not  say  anything  before  her 
father  of  her  weariness  and  waiting,  or  it 
would  have  sounded  like  a  reproach ;  and 
Colin,  for  his  part,  could  not  utter  a  word 
about  his  intentions  or  prospects  to  any 
ears  but  hers.  He  could  speak  to  her,  and 
she,  who  accepted  everything  said  with- 
out any  question,  found  nothing  wanting 
in  his  words ;  and  that  was  already  a  new 
Hnk  between  them ;  but  before  her  father 
and  his  own  friend  he  was  dumb.  He 
could  not  even  talk  to  Lauderdale  as  he 
had  talked  to  him  four  years  ago  at  Fras- 
cati ;  and  yet  he  resented  that  Lauderdale 
did  not  ask  him  any  questions.  From 
which  it  will  be  seen  that  nothing  could 
well  be  less  manageable  and  reasonable 
than  the  state  of  Colin's  mind  at  this  mo- 
ment, when  the  most  important  decision 
of  his  Hfe  was  being  made. 

That  evening  it  was  he  who  sought  an  in- 
terview with  Mr.  Meredith.  It  was  very 
clear,  in  every  point  of  view,  that  every- 
thing should  be  arranged,  with  the  least  de- 
lay possible.  "  I  have  served  half  as  long 
as  Jacbb  did,"  Colin  said,  with  a  smile, 
which,  however,  was  far  from  being  the  ra- 
diant smile  of  a  happy  lover ;  and  Alice's 
father,  who  was  not  by  any  means  as  confi- 
dent in  Colin's  love  as  Alice  was,  was  so 
much  concei'ned  that  his  daughter  should 
not  lose  the  hajipiness  which  meant  not  only 
happiness,  but  life  and  strength  as  well,  that 
he  did  not  venture  to  make  any  objections. 
Neither  did  the  poor  man  resent  the  insult, 
when  Colin  repeated  with  mildness,  yet  with 
steadiness,  his  determination  to  receive 
nothing  from  him.  Alice  had  something  of 
her  own,  which  came  to  her  from  her  mother, 
the  little  revenue  which  Arthur  had  once 
had  his  share  of,  and  on  which  the  two  had 
lived  at  Frascati :  but  beyond  that,  Colin,  al- 
ways superlative,  would  have  none  of  the 
rich  man's  fortune,  which  was  soiled,  as  he 
thought,  with  fraud  and  cruelty.  Whether 
this  accusation  was  just  or  unjust,  poor  ]\ir. 
Meredith,  who  was  a  kind  father,  swallowed 
it  without  saying  anything,  and  consented  to 
all  his  future  son-in-law's  requirements.  Colin 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  Holmby  at 
once,  to  hasten  back  to  Lafton,  and  make 
all  the  preparations  necessary  to  receive  his 
bride ;  and  the  marriage  was  fixed  to  take 


236 


A     SON     OF    THE     SOIL. 


place  in  two  months,  in  August,  when  Colin 
could  take  up  again  his  broken  thread  of  holi- 
day. All  this  was  arranged  between  the 
two  as  an  absolute  matter  of  business,  re- 
quiring no  expression  of  sentiment.  If  Mr. 
Meredith  thought  the  young  man  a  little 
cold  and  stern,  and  swallowed  that  senti- 
ment as  he  had  swallowed  the  other,  after 
all,  perhaps,  it  was  best  that  in  discussing 
what  was  a  business  matter  even  a  bride- 
groom should  talk  in  a  business  way.  And, 
then,  Alice  was  unquestionably  satisfied, 
and  had  regained  some  colour  on  her  cheek, 
and  some  elasticity  in  her  step.  She  had 
never  been  poilrinaire,  like  Arthur.  Her 
illness  was  a  kind  of  hopelessness,  a  linger- 
ing languor,  which  was  quite  as  capable  of 
killing  her  as  if  it  had  been  a  legitimate 
disease  ;  and  this  was  a  malady  from  which, 
to  all  appearance,  only  Colin  and  a  happy 
life  could  deliver  her.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, therefore,  it  was  natural  that  Mr. 
Meredith,  though  a  little  wounded,  and  even  a 
little  alarmed,  by  the  new  son-in-law,  who 
meant  to  have  everything  his  own  way,  con- 
sented to  his  wishes,  being  anxious  above  all 
things  to  preserve  his  daughter.  He  caressed 
and  petted  Alice  all  the  more  when  his  consent 
had  been  made  known  to  her,  with  a  kind  of 
faint  idea,  in  his  ignorance,  that  all  the  in- 
dulgences which  had  surrounded  her  would 
be  at  an  end  whan  she  put  herself  under 
the  power  of  this  abrupt  and  imperious 
young  man.  As  for  Alice,  she  looked  from 
her  lather  to  her  betrothed  with  a  serenity 
and  confidence  so  profound  that  it  went  to 
Colin's  heart.  "  She  has  been  used  to  be 
taken  care  of  all  her  life,"  her  father  said, 
as  fathers  generally  say,  but  with  an  odd 
forgetfulness,  for  the  moment,  that  Colin 
knew  something  about  that.  "  I  hope  you 
will  be  very  good  to  her." 

Alice  opened  her  soft  lips  at  this,  to  give 
vent  to  a  little  ring  of  laughter  so  soft  that 
it  did  not  wound  even  the  fantastical  delica- 
cy of  her  Bayard.  To  doubt  Colin  seemed 
to  her  not  so  much  wrong  as  absurd,  out  of 
all  reason.  She  said,  half  under  her  breath, 
"  He  has  taken  care  of  me  before  now  "  — 
and,  to  relieve  herself  of  that  which  she 
could  not  express  to  her  father  without 
blaming  him,  it  was  to  Lauderdale  she  turn- 
ed. "  You  made  me  feel  as  if  I  were  a 
princess,"  she  said  to  him,  and  held  out  her 
hand  to  the  friend  who  was  looking  on  with 
an  anxiety  so  intense  that  it  precluded 
speech.  As  for  Colin,  in  the  high  state  of 
irritation  in  wliich  he  was,  the  very  silence 
with  which  Lauderdale  pressed  tiie  little 
hand  of  Alice  between  his  own  aggravated 
and  exasperated  him.     Why  did  he  not  say 


something  ?  "Why  did  he  not  look  him,  the 
betrothed,  straight  in  the  eyes,  and  ask, 
"  Are  not  you  happy  '?  '  Had  he  done  so 
Colin  would  have  taken  it  as  the  direst  and 
most  unpardonable  offence,  but  in  the  dis- 
turbed state  of  his  heart  and  mind  he  re- 
sented the  very  absence  of  the  question.  A 
man  must  have  some  one  to  bear  the  brunt 
of  his  discontent  when  things  go  wrong  with 
him,  and  in  the  meantime  there  was  nobody 
but  Lauderdale  to  bear  this  blow. 

Accordingly,  when  all  was  settled,  and 
when  it  was  finally  arranged  that  Colin 
should  leave  Holmby  next  morning  and 
make  haste  home,  to  commence  his  prepara- 
tions, it  was  of  his  own  accord  that  he  in- 
vited Lauderdale  to  join  him  in  the  avenue 
for  half  an  hour's  talk.  The  wind  had  fall- 
en, and  the  night  was  very  still,  but  it  was 
almost  as  dark  as  on  the  previous  evening, 
and  the  gloom  had  this  advantage,  that  they 
could  not  see  each  other's  faces,  which  was 
all  the  better  under  the  circumstances. 
They  had  walked  almost  all  the  length  of 
the  avenue  before  Colin  spoke,  and  then  it 
was  to  this  effect. 

"Lauderdale,  look  here.  I  am  going 
home,  and  leaving  you  in  the  lurch.  We 
are  not  going  to  Windermere  together,  as 
we  meant  to  do.  You  see,  I  have  things 
more  important  in  hand.  What  I  want  to 
say  is,  that  you  are  not  to  think  yourself 
bound  by  me.  I  see  no  reason  why  you 
should  return  because  a  —  a  good  fortune  so 
unexpected  has  come  to  me." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  want  me  to  go 
on  my  way  ?  "  said  Lauderdale.  "  With  me 
there  is  little  need  to  speak  in  parables. 
Say  plain  out  if  you  would  rather  be  your 
lane.  I  am  no  a  man  to  take  offence  —  not 
from  you." 

"  Good  heavens ! "  said  Colin,  in  his  im- 
patience, "  why  should  you  or  any  one  take 
offence  ?  What  I  tell  you  is  the  plainest 
statement  of  the  case.  I  have  to  go  home, 
but  you  are  not  obliged  to  go  home.  And 
why  should  you  break  off  your  excursion  for 
me'?" 

"  If  I  was  minding  about  the  excursion," 
said  Lauderdale,  '*  I  would  go  on.  You  aye 
make  so  much  account  of  yourselves,  you 
callants.  As  for  Windermere,  I'm  no  bigot- 
ed, but  if  it's  mair  worth  seeing  than  our 
ain  lochs  it  would  be  a  wonder  to  me.  I'm 
no  for  parting  company.  It's  aye  been  my 
way  of  thinking,  that  even  a  railroad,  seen 
Avith  four  een,  was  better  than  the  bonniest 
country  in  the  world,  seen  with  two  only. 
We'll  go  twain,  Colin,  if  you  have  no  ob- 
jections, you  and  me." 

And  then  there  was  a  silence,  and  the  two 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


237 


friends  went  on  together  side  by  side  in  the 
darkness,  without  a  word  to  each  other. 
Between  them  the  ordinary  words  of  con- 
gratulation would  have  sounded  like  mock- 
ery, and  then  the  one  divined  too  clearly  the 
condition  of  the  other  to  know  what  to  say. 
Lauderdale,  however,  knew  Colin  so  well 
that  be  knew  silence  to  be  as  dangerous  as 
speech. 

"  I  have  an  awfu'  desire  in  my  mind,"  he 
said  at  length ;  "  no  doubt  it's  daft-like,  but 
that  is  no  extraordinary.  I  would  like  to  do 
something  with  my  hands  to  please  her,  now 
we've  found  her.  I'm  no  rich,  and,  what's 
an  'awful  deal  worse,  I'm  no  much  good  for 
anything  but  talk  —  and  maybs  she  has  an 
inkling  of  that.  What  was  that  yon  lad 
Browning  says  about  Raphael's  sonnets  and 
Dante's  picture  ?  I'm  of  that  opinion  my- 
sel'.  I  would  like  to  do  something  with  my 
hands  that  was  nae  fit  work  for  the  like  of 
me,  just  to  please  her ;  if  it  was  naething 
better  than  the  things  they  whittle  with 
their  knives  away  yonder  among  the  Alps," 
said  Lauderdale  5  and  even  in  the  darkness 
Cohn  could  see  the  little  flourish  of  his  arm 
with  which  he  had  the  habit  of  indicating 
the  never-to-be-forgotten  region  "  away 
yonder."  "Have  patience  a  moment  till 
I've  done  speaking,"  he  went  on ;  "  I've  been 
thinking  I  would  like  to  take  a  good  day's 
work  at  the  Manse  garden.  It's  as  innocent 
a  thing  in  its  way  to  plant  flowers  as  to 
write  verses.  So  I'm  saying  I'll  go  home 
with  you,  if  you've  nae  objections,"  said 
Lauderdale.  He  came  to  a  conclusion  so 
suddenly,  that  Colin,  who  had  gradually 
yielded  to  the  influence  of  the  famlHar  tran- 
quIUizing  voice,  came  to  a  sudden  pause 
when  he  stopped  short.  Lauderdale  paused 
too  in  his  walk  when  his  friend  did  so, 
though  without  knowing  why.  It  was  in- 
difierent  to  him  whether  he  kept  walkin"-  or 
stood  still ;  his  mind  went  on  pursuinfr'  its 
leisurely  meditations  all  the  same. 

But  Colin's  heart  was  full.  He  grasped 
Lauderdale's  arm  without  knowing  it,  with 
that  sudden  impulse  of  saying  something 
which  sometimes  comes  upon  people  who 
must  not  say  what  is  in  their  hearts. 
"Come,"  he  said,  with  a  little  choking  in 
his  voice,  "  we  will  do  that  day's  work  to- 
gether ;  for  I  suppose  there  never  was  gain, 
however  great,  but  had  loss  in  it; "  said  Colin. 
Perhaps  he.  did  not  know  very  well  himself 
what  he  meant,  but  even  these  vague  words 
were  a  little  ease  to  him  in  their  way.  And 
then  they  went  indoors,  and  the  long  day 
came  to  an  end. 

This  was  how  the  holiday  excursion  ter- 
minated.    They  left  Holmby  next  day,  and 


went  home  again ;  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other  thinking  any  moi'e  of  the  Church  Re- 
formation, or  of  the  "  Tracts  for  the  Times." 
When  Colin  found  his  MS.  in  his  writing- 
case  when  he  opened  it  on  the  night  of  his 
arrival  at  Ramore  to  write  to  Alice,  he  look- 
ed at  it  with  a  little  wonder,  as  if  it  had 
been  a  fossil  of  an  early  formation  unexpect- 
edly disinterred  among  the  fragments  of 
daily  use  and  wont.  And  then  he  returned 
it  to  its  pocket,  with  something  that  looked 
like  a  very  clumsy  attempt  at  a  smile.  There 
are  points  of  view  from  which  a  good-sized 
tree  or  a  shepherd's  cottage  may  blot  out  a 
mountain  ;  and  everybody  knows  how  easily 
that  is  accomplished  on  the  moral  horizon, 
where  a  tiny  personal  event  can  put  the 
greatest  revolution  in  the  background.  It 
would  be  too  long  to  tell  the  wonder  and 
admiration  and  perplexed  joy  of  the  Mis- 
tress, when  she  heard  of  the  accident  which 
had  put  an  end  to  her  son's  journey.  Her 
joy  was  perplexed,  because  there  was  always 
a  shadow  which  she  could  not  decipher  upon 
Colin's  countenance  ;  and,  even  if  her  mo- 
ther's pride  would  have  permitted  her  to 
consult  Lauderdale  on  such  a  subject,  or  to 
suffer  either  him  or  herself  to  suppose  for  a 
moment  that  he  could  know  more  about  her 
boy  than  she  did,  Lauderdale's  lips  were 
sealed.  Colin  stayed  only  a  night  at  Ramore 
to  let  his  family  know  of  what  was  going  to 
happen,  and  then  he  hurried  on  to  Lafcon, 
still  accompanied  by  his  friend.  They  talked 
of  almost  anything  in  the  world  during  that 
journey,  except  of  the  preparations  they 
were  going  to  make,  and  the  change  that 
was  to  follow ;  but  Colin's  great  ambition, 
and  his  work,  ahd  the  more  important 
change  he  meant  to  work  in  his  native 
Church  and  country,  had  little  part  In  their 
discussions.  At  such  a  moment,  when  It  is 
next  to  impossible  to  a  man  to  talk  of  what 
he  is  thinking  of,  it  is  such  a  wonderful  re- 
lief for  him  to  escape  into  metaphysics ;  and, 
fortunately,  in  that  department  of  human  in- 
vestigation, there  are  still  so  many  questions 
to  discuss. 


CHAPTER   LII. 

If  this  had  been  anything  but  a  true  his- 
tory, it  would  have  been  now  the  time  for 
Alice  Meredith  to  overhear  a  chance  con- 
versation, or  find  a  dropped  letter,  which 
would  betray  to  her  Colin's  secret ;  but  this 
is  not  an  accident  with  which  the  present 
historian  can  give  Interest  to  his  closing 
chapter,  because,  in  the  first  place,  it  did 
not  happen,  and  in  the  second,  if  a  second 
should    be    thought  necessary,    Colin   had 


238 


A     SON     OF    THE     SOIL. 


never  confided  his  secret  either  to  writing 
or  to  any  mortal  ear  —  which  is  of  all  ways 
of  securing  a  private  matter  the  most  certain. 
He  thought  to  himself,  as  he  put  his  manse 
in  order  to  receive  her,  with  a  certain  inex- 
pressible content,  that  never  to  any  living 
creature,  never  even  to  the  air  that  might 
have  repeated  the  matter,  had  he  so  much 
as  whispered  what  was  the  real  founda- 
tion of  the  old  betrothals,  which  were  now 
about  to  be  carried  out.  He  had  never  been 
so  near  telling  it  as  on  the  night  before 
Alice  re-appeared  in  his  life, —  that  moment 
when  the  words  were  half  formed  on  his  lips, 
and  nothing  but  a  chivalrous,  visionary  sense 
of  the  respect  he  owed  to  a  woman  had  pre- 
vented him  putting  an  end  to  Lauderdale's 
recollections  by  a  confession  which  would 
have  closed  his  friend's  lips  forever.  For- 
tunately he  had  been  saved  from  that  dan- 
ger ;  and  now  nobody,  even  in  the  depths 
of  their  hearts,  could  say  or  feel  that  Alice 
had  been  ever  regarded  by  her  husband 
otherwise  than  as  the  chosen  of  a  man's 
heart,  the  companion  of  his  existence,  should 
be  regarded.  He  had  by  turns  a  hard  enough 
struggle  during  these  weeks,  when  he  took 
refuse  in  his  study  at  Lafton,  in  the  midst 
of  the  disorganized  house,  where  thino;s  were 
being  prepared  for  the  arrival  of  his  wife, 
and  "in  her  garden,  where  Lauderdale  had 
done  more  than  a  day's  work,  and  had,  in- 
deed, taken  the  charge  of  re-arrangement 
into  his  hand.  But  the  garden,  in  those  hn- 
o-erin"-,  never-ending  summer  twilights,  in 
their  northern  sweetness,  was  too  much  for 
Colin  ;  when  the  early  stars  came  out  on  the 
skirts  of  the  slow -departing  day,  they  seeni- 
ed  to  cast  reproachful  glances  at  him,  as  if 
he  had  abandoned  that  woman  in  the  clouds. 
He  used  to  go  in  with  a  sigh,  and  shut  him- 
self up  in  his  study,  and  light  his  candles ; 
and  then,  after  all,  it  was  a  great  good  for- 
tune that  she  had  never  come  down  out  of 
those  wistful  distances,  and  walked  upon  the 
common  soil,  and  looked  him  in  the  face. 
As  for  Alice,  if  anybody  had  betrayed  to  her 
the  exact  state  of  affairs,  if  she  had  been 
made  aware  of  this  mysterious  and  invisible 
rival  towards  whom,  in  the  depths  of  his 
heart,  Colin  sighed,  the  chances  are  that 
she  would  only  have  laughed,  in  the  supreme 
security  of  her  ignorance.  She  could  no 
more  have  understood  the  rivalry  that  was 
in  that  dream  than  she  could  have_  compre- 
hended any  other  or  better  description  of 
love  than  that  which  her  betrothed  gave  her. 
For  the  fact  is,  that  nobody  need  in  the 
least  bemoan  Alice,  or  think  that  her  posi- 
tion was  one  to  call  for  sympathy.  She  was 
perfectly  content,  knowing  so  little  of  Colin's 


heart  as  she  did,  and  she  would  have  still 
been  perfectly  content  had  she  known  it 
much  more  profoundly.  If  he  had  regarded 
her  as  he  could  have  regarded  his  ideal  wo- 
man, Alice  would  not  have  understood,  and 
probably  even  would  have  been  embarrassed 
and  made  uneasy  by  such  devotion.  She  had 
all  that  she  had  ever  dreamed  of  in  the  way 
of  love.  Her  ideal,  such  as  it  was,  was  fully 
reali^d.  CoUn's  tenderness,  which  had  so 
much  remorse  in  it,  was  to  Alice  the  most 
perfect  of  all  manifestations  of  attachment. 
When  his  heart  was  full  of  compunctions 
for  not  giving  her  enough,  hers  was  smiling 
with  the  sweetest  pride  and  satisfaction  in 
receiving  so  much.  It  even  seemed  to  her 
odd  by  turns  how  a  man  so  superior  should 
be  so  fond  of  her,  as  she  said  to  herself,  in 
her  innocence :  for,  to  be  sure,  Arthur, 
though  he  was  not  equal  to  Cohn,  had  given 
but  a  very  limited  consideration  to  his  little 
sister.  And  her  sense  of  the  difference  be- 
tween Arthur's  estimation  of  her  and  the 
rank  she  held  with  her  betrothed  was  like 
the  sweetest  flattery  to  her  mind.  And,  to 
be  sure,  Alice  had  reason  in  these  conclu- 
sions of  hers.  She  described  Colin's  affec- 
tion perfectly  in  her  simple  words.  It  was 
as  true  to  say  he  was  fond  of  her,  as  it  was 
that  he  did  not  love  her  according  to  his  es- 
timate of  love.  But  then  his  estimate  of  love 
was  not  hers,  and  she  was  entirely  content. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  these  two  were 
married  after  all  the  long  delay  and  separa- 
tion. Alice  recovered  her  health  by  magic 
as  soon  as  she  began  to  be  happy.  And  ]\ir. 
Meredith,  notwithstanding  that  he  smarted 
a  little  under  the  affront  put  upon  him  by 
his  new  son-in-law,  in  that  singular  and  (luite 
original  development  of  disinterestedness, 
which  Alice's  father,  being  Low  Church, 
could  not  but  think  most  unlike  a  clergy- 
man, was  yet  so  exhilarated  by  the  unri- 
valled success  of  his  expedient  to  save  his 
daughter,  that  all  the  lesser  annoyances 
were  swallowed  up.  And  then  he  had  always 
the  little  one  remaining,  whom  he  could 
make  an  heiress  of.  It  was  a  quiet  wedding 
—  for  the  Merediths  were  comparatively 
strangers  in  Westmoreland  —  but,  at  the 
same  time,  it  was  not  in  the  least  a  sad  one, 
for  Mr.  Meredith  did  not  thiiik  of  weeping, 
and  there  was  nobody  else  to  take  that  part 
of  the  business.  Ahce  had  only  her  little  sis- 
ter to  leave,  who  was  too  much  excited  and 
delighted  with  all  the  proceedings,  and  with 
her  own  future  position  as  Miss  Mei'edith,  to 
be  much  overcome  by  the  parting.  It  was, 
indeed,  a  beginning  of  hfe  almost  entirely 
without  drawbacks  to  the  bride.  She  had 
nothing  much  to  regret  in  the  past ;  no  links 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


239 


of  tender  affection  to  break,  and  no  sense  of 
a  great  blank  left  behind,  as  some  young  -wo- 
men have.  On  the  contrary,  all  that  was 
dark  and  discouraging  was  left  behind.  The 
most  exquisite  moments  of  her  life,  the  winter 
she  had  spent  in  Frascati  under  the  tender 
and  chivalrous  guardianship  of  the  compan- 
ions who  had  devoted  all  their  powers  to 
amuse  and  console  Arthur's  sister,  seemed 
but  an  imperfect  rehearsal,  clouded  with 
pain  and  sorrow,  for  the  perfect  days  that 
were  to  come.  "  I  wish  for  nothing  biit  Sora 
Antonia  to  kiss  me,  and  bid  God  bless  us," 
.  she  said,  with  the  tears  of  her  espousals  in 
her  eyes.  And  it  was  the  best  thing  Alice 
could  have  said.  The  idyll  for  which  Colin 
felt  himself  so  poor  a  hero  now,  had  existed, 
in  a  way,  among  the  pale  olive-groves,  on 
the  dear  Albine  hills.  "  Dio  te  benedica," 
he  said,  as  he  took  away  his  bride  from  her 
father's  door.  It  meant  more  than  a  blessint^f. 
when  he  said  it,  as  Sora  Antonia  might  have 
said  it,  in  that  language  which  was  consecra- 
ted to  them  both  by  love  and  death. 

The  scene  and  the  circumstances  were  all 
very  different  when  a  few  weeks  later  Colin 
took  his  bride  to  the  Holy  Loch.  It  was 
evening,  but  perhaps  Colin  had  not  time  for 
the  same  vivid  perceptions  of  that  twilight 
and  peaceful  atmosphere  which  a  few  months 
before  had  made  him  smile,  contrasting  it 
with  the  movement  and  life  in  his  own 
mind.  But  perhaps  this  was  only  because 
he  was  more  occupied  by  external  matters ; 
by  Alice  at  his  side,  to  whom  he  had  to 
point  out  everything  ;  and  by  the  greetings 
and  saluvations  of  everybody  who  met  him. 
As  for  Alice  herself,  in  her  wistfulness  and 
happiness,  with  only  one  anxiety  remaining 
in  her  heart,  just  enough  to  give  the  appeaf 
ing  look  which  suited  them  best  to  her  soft 
eye,  she  was  as  near  beautiful  as  a  woman 
of  her  unimposing  stature  and  features 
could  be.  She  was  one  of  those  brides  who 
appeal  to  everybody,  in  the  shy  radiance  of 
their  gladness,  to  share  and  sympathize  with 
them.  There  are  some  people  whose  joy  is 
a  kind  of  affront  and  insult  to  the  sorrowful ; 
but  AHee  was  not  one  of  them.  Perhaps  at 
that  supreme  hour  of  her  life  she  was  think- 
ing more  of  the  sad  people  under  the  sun  — 
the  mourners  and  sufferers  —  than  she  had 
done  when  she  used  to  lie  on  her  sofa  at 
Holmby,  and  think  to  herself  that  she  never 
would  rise  from  it,  and  that  he  never  would 
come.  The  joy  was  to  Alice  like  a  sacra- 
ment, which  it  was  so  hard  to  think  the 
whole  world  could  not  share,  and,  '  as  her 
beauty  was  chiefly  beauty  of  expression, 
this  tender  sentiment  shed  a  certain  loveli- 
ness over  her  face  as  she  stood  by  Colin's 


side,  with  her  white  veil  thrown  back,  and 
the  tender  countenance,  which  was  veiled 
in  simplicity,  and  required  no  other  cover- 
ing, turned  towards  Ramore.     Her  one  re- 
maining anxiety  was,  that  perhaps  Colin's 
mother  might   not  respond  to  the  longing 
affection  that  was  in  her  heart  —  might  not 
take  to  her,  as  she  said  ;  and  this  was  why 
her  eyes  looked  so  appealing,  and  besought 
all  the  world  to  take  her  into  their  hearts. 
When  it  came   to  the  moment,  however, 
when  CoHn  lifted  her  out  upon  the  glisten- 
ing beach,  and  put  her  hand  into  that  of  his 
father,  who  was  waiting  there  to   receive 
them,  Alice,  as  was  her  nature,  recovered 
her  composure.     She  held  up  her  soft  cheek 
to  Big    Colin  of   Ramore,  who   was   half 
abashed  by  the  action,  and  yet  wholly  de- 
lighted, although  in  Scotch  reserve  he  had 
contemplated  nothing  more  familiar  than  a 
hearty  clasp  of  her  hand.     She  was  so  fair 
a  woman  to  his  homely  eyes,  and  looked  so 
like  a  little  princess,  that  the  farmer  had 
scarcely  courage  to  take  her  into  his  arms, 
or,  as  he  himself  would  have  said,  "  use  so 
much  freedom"  with  such  a  dainty  little 
lady.     But  Alice  had  something  more  im- 
portant in  her  mind  than  to  remark  Big 
Colin's  hesitation.     "  Where  is  she  '?  "  she 
cried,  appealing  to  him  first,  and  then  to  her 
husband  ;  "  where    is  she,   Colin  ?  "     And 
then  they  led  her  up  the  brae  to  where  the 
Mistress,  trembling   and   excited,  propped 
herself  up  against  the  porch  awaiting  her. 
Alice  sprang  forward    before   her  escort, 
when  she  saw  this  figure  at  the  door.     She 
left  Colin's  arm  as  she  had  never  left  it  be- 
fore,  and   threw   herself  upon  his  mother. 
She  took  this  meeting  into  her  own  hands, 
and  accomplished  it  her  own  way,  nobody 
interfering.      "  Mamma,"    said    Alice,    "  I 
should  have  come  to  you  four  years  ago, 
and  they  have  never  let  me  come  till  now. 
I  have  been  longing  for  you  all  this  time. 
Mamma,  kiss  me,  and  say  you  are  glad,  for 
I  love  you  dearly,"  cried  Alice.     As  for  the 
Mistress,   she  could   not  make   any  reply. 
She   said   "  my   darling  "  faintly,  and  took 
the  clinging  creature  to  her  bosom.     And 
that  was  how  the  meeting  took  place,  for 
which  Alice  had  been  longing,  as  she  said, 
for  four  long  years.     When  they  took  her  . 
into  the  homely  parlour   of  Ramore,    and 
placed  her  on  the  old-fashioned  sofa,  beside 
the  Mistress,   it   was   not  without  a  little 
anxiety  that  Colin  regarded  his  wife,  to  see 
the  effect  made  upon  her  by  this  humble 
interior.     But,  to  look  at  Alice,  nobody  could 
have  found  out  that  she  had  not  been  ac- 
customed to  Ramore  all  her  life,  or  that  the 
Mistress  was  not  her  own  individual  prop- 


240 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


erty.  It  even  struck  Colin  witli  a  curious 
sense  of  pleasure  that  she  did  not  say 
"  mother,"  as  making  a  claim  on  his  mother 
for  bis  sake,  but  claimed  her  instantly  as 
her  own,  as  though  somehow  her  claim  had 
been  meant.  "  Sometimes  I  thought  of  run- 
ning away  and  coming  to  you,"  said  Alice, 
as  she  sat  by  the  Mistress's  side,  in  radiant 
content  and  satisfaction  ;  and  it  would  be 
rain  to  attempt  to  describe  the  admiration 
and  delight  of  the  entire  household  with 
Colin's  little  tender  bride. 

As  for  the  Mistress,  when  the  first  excite- 
ment was  over,  she  was  glad  to  find  her  boy 
by  himself  for  a  moment,  to  bid  God  bless 
him,  and  say  what  was  in  her  heart.  "  If  it 
wasna  that  she's  wiled  the  heart  out  of  my 
breast,"  said  Mrs.  Campbell,  putting  up  her 
hand  to  her  shining  eyes.  "  Eh,  CoUn,  my 
man,  thank  the  Lord ;  it's  like  as  if  it  vras 
an  angel  He  had  sent  you  out  of  heaven." 

"  She  will  be  a  daughter  to  you,  mother," 
said  Colin,  in  the  fulness  of  his  heart. 

But  at  this  two  great  tears  dropped  out 
of  Mrs.  Campbell's  eyes.  "  She's  sweet  and 
bonnie ;  eh,  Colin,  she's  bonnie  and  sweet ; 
but  I'm  an  awfu'  hardhearted  woman,"  said 
the  Mistress.  "  I  cannot  think  ony  woman 
will  ever  take  that  place.  I'm  aye  so  bigoted 
for  my  ain  ;  God  forgive  me  ;  but  her  that  is 
my  Colin's  wife  has  nae  occasion  for  ony 
other  name,"  she  said  with  a  tender  artifice, 
stooping  over  her  boy  and  putting  back 
those  great  waves  of  his  hair  which  were 
the  pride  of  her  heart.  "  And  I  have  none 
of  my  ain  to  go  out  of  my  house  a  bride," 
the  Mistress  added,  under  her  breath,  with 
one  great  sob.  Colin  could  not  tell  why  his 
mother  should  say  such  words  at  such  a 
moment.  But  perhaps  Alice,  though  she 
was  not  so  clever  as  Colin,  had  she  been 
there,  might  have  divined  their  meaning 
after  the  divination  of  her  heart. 

It  is  hard  to  see  what  can  be  said  ab^-.-'i 
a  man  after  he  is  married,  unless  he  quarrels 
with  his  wife,  and  makes  her  wretched,  and 
gets  into  trouble,  or  she  does  as  much  for 
him.  This  is  not  a  thing  which  has  happen- 
ed, or  has  the  least  chance  of  happening  in 
Colin's  case.  Not  only  did  Alice  receive  a 
very  flattering  welcome  in  Lafton,  and  what 
was  still  more  gratifying  in  St.  Rule's,  where, 
as  most  people  are  aware,  very  good  society 
is  to  be  tound ;  but  she  did  more  than  that, 
and  grew  very  popular  in  the  parish,  where, 
to  be  sure,  no  curate  could  have  been  more 
serviceable.  She  had  undoubted  Low  Church 
tendencies,  Avhich  helped  her  on  with 
many  of  the  people ;  and  in  conjunction  with 
them  she  had  little  High  Church  habits, 
which  were  very  quaint  and  captivating  in 


,  their  way  ;  and,  all  unconscious  as  she  was 
of  Colin's  views  in  respect  to  Church  refor- 
mation, Alice  was  "  the  means,"  as  she 
herself  would  have  said,  of  introducing  some 
edifying  customs  among  the  young  people  of 
the  parish,  which  she  and  they  were  equally 
unaware  were  capable  of  havit.g  been  inter- 
preted to  savour  of  papistry  had  the  power 
and  inclinations  of  the  Presbytery  been  in 
good  exercise  as  of  old.  As  for  Colin,  he  was 
tamed  down  in  his  revolutionary  intentions 
without  knowing  how.  A  man  who  has 
given  hostages  to  society,  who  has  married 
a  wife,  and  especially  a  wife  who  does  not 
know  anything  about  his  crotchets,  and 
never  can  understand  why  the  bishop  (see- 
ing that  there  certainly  is  a  bishop  in  the 
Idngdom  of  Fife,  though  few  people  pay  any 
attention  to  him)  docs  not  come  to  Lafton 
and  confirm  the  catechumens,  is  scarcely  in 
a  position  to  throw  himself  headlong  upon 
the  established  order  of  things  and  prove 
its  futility.  No.  I.  of  the  "  Tracts  for  the 
Times,"  got  printed  certainly ;  but  it  was  in 
an  accidental  sort  of  way,  and  though  it 
cannot  be  said  to  have  been  without  its  use, 
still  the  effect  was  transitory,  in  consequence 
of  the  want  of  continuous  effort.  No  doubt 
it  made  a  good  deal  of  sensation  in  the 
Scotch  papers,  where,  as  such  of  the  readers 
of  this  history  as  live  north  of  tiie  Tweed 
may  recollect,  there  appeared  at  one  time  a 
flood  of  letters  signed  by  parish  ministers  on 
this  subject.  But  then,  to  be  sure,  it  came 
Into  the  minds  of  sundry  persons  that  the 
Church  of  Scotland  had  thoughts  of  going 
back  to  the  ante-Laudian  times,  in  robes  of 
penitence,  to  beg  a  prayer-book  from  her 
richer  sister  —  which  was  not  altogether 
Colin's  intention,  and  roused  his  national 
spirit.  For  we  have  already  found  it  neces- 
sary to  say  that  the  young  man,  notwith- 
standing that  he  had  many  gleams  of  in- 
sight, did  not  always  know  "'...the  would 
be  at,  or  what  it  was  precisely  that  he  want- 
ed. What  he  wanted,  perhaps,  was  to  be 
catholic  and  belong  to  Chi-Isteudom,  and  not 
to  shut  himself  up  In  a  corner  and  preach 
himself  and  his  people  to  death,  as  he  once 
said.  He  wanted  to  keep  the  Christian 
feasts,  and  say  the  universal  prayers,  and 
link  the  sacred  old  observances  with  the 
daily  life  of  his  dogmatical  congregation, 
which  preferred  logic.  All  this,  however, 
he  pursued  in  a  milder  way  after  that  fa- 
mous journey  to  Windermere,  upon  which 
he  had  set  out  like  a  lion,  and  from  which 
he  returned  home  like  a  lamb.  For  it  would 
be  painful  to  think  that  this  foithful  but  hum- 
ble history  should  have  awakened  any  ter- 
rors in  the  heart  of  the  Church  of  S»otland 


A    SON    OF    THE    SOIL. 


241 


in  respect  to  the  revolutionary  in  her  bosom  ; 
and  it  is  pleasant  to  be  able  to  restore  the 
confidence  to  a  certain  extent  of  the  people 
and  presbyters  of  that  venerable  corpora- 
tion. Colin  is  there,  and  no  doubt  he  has  his 
work  to  do  in  the  world ;  but  he  is  married 
and  subdued,  and  goes  about  it  quietly,  like 
a  man  who  understands  what  interests  are 
involved ;  and  up  to  the  present  moment  he 
has  resisted  the  urgent  appeals  of  a  younger 
brotherhood,  who  have  arisen  since  these 
events,  to  continue  the  publication  of  the 
"  Tracts  for  the  Times." 

It  is  at  this  point  that  we  leave  Colin, 
who  has  entered  on  a  period  of  his  life, 
which  is  as  yet  unfinished,  and  accordingly 
is  not  yet  matter  for  history.  Some  people, 
no  doubt,  may  be  disposed  to  ask,  being 
aware  of  the  circumstances  of  his  marriage, 
whether  he  was  happy  in  his  new  position. 
Pie  was  as  happy  as  most  people  are ;  and, 
if  he  was  not  perfectly  happy,  no  unbiassed 
judge  can  refuse  to  acknowledge  that  it  was 
his  own  fault.  He  was  young,  full  of  genius, 
full  of  health,  with  the  sweetest  little  woman 
in  the  kingdom  of  Fife,  as  many  people 
thought,  for  his  wife,  and  not  even  the  trou- 
blesome interpellations  of  that  fantastic  wo- 
man in  the  clouds  to  disturb  his  repose.  She 
had  waved  her  hand  to  him  for  the  last  time 
from  among  the  rosy  clouds  on  the  night 
before  his  marriage  day  ;  for  if  a  man's  mar- 

16 


riage  is  good  for  anything,  it  is  surely  good 
against  the  visitings  of  a  visionary  creature 
who  had  refused  to  reveal  herself  when  she 
had  full  time  and  opportunity  to  do  so.  And 
let  nobody  suppose  that  CoUn  kept  a  cup- 
board with  a  skeleton  in  it  to  retire  to  for 
his  private  delectation  when  Alice  was  sleep- 
ing, as  it  is  said  some  people  have  a  habit  of 
doing.  There  was  no  key  of  that  description 
under  his  pillow  ;  and  yet,  if  you  will  know 
the  truth,  there  was  a  key,  but  not  of  Blue- 
beard's kind  —  it  was  a  key  that  opened  the 
innermost  chamber,  the  watch-tower  and  cit- 
adel of  his  heart.  So  far  from  shutting  it 
up  from  Alice,  he  had  done  all  that  tender 
aifection  could  do  to  coax  her  in,  to  watch 
the  stars  with  him  and  ponder  their  se- 
crets ;  but  Alice  had  no  vocation  for  that  sort 
of  recreation.  And  the  fact  was,  that  from 
time  to  time  Colin  went  in  and  shut  the 
door  behind  him,  and  was  utterly  alone  un- 
derneath -ihe  distant  wistful  skies.  When  he 
came  out,  perhaps  his  countenance  now  and 
then  was  a  little  sad ;  and  perhaps  he  did 
not  see  so  clear  as  he  might  have  done  un- 
der other  circumstances.  For  Colin,  like 
Lauderdale,  believed  in  the  quattr'  occlii  — 
the  four  eyes  that  see  a  landscape  at  its 
broadest  and  heaven  at  its  nearest.  But 
then  a  man  can  live  without  that  last  climax 
of  existence  when  everything  else  is  going 
on  well  in  his  life. 


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This  beautiful  edition  will  receive  a  grateful  and  cordial 
■rt-elcome  from  every  admirer  of  the  great  English  master 
of  fiction. — Xeio  York  Tribune. 

Nothing  has  been  spared,  in  paper,  type,  and  binding, 
to  gratify  the  most  fastidious  taste. — Boston  Courier. 

The  paper  is  rich,  heavy,  and  exquisitely  tinted.  The 
type,  marked  with  a  racy  dash  of  the  antique,  is  the  per- 
fection of  clearness.  The  illustrations  are  Tliackeray' s 
own,  reproduced  in  the  best  style  of  engraving,  and  the 

binding  faultless  in  taste Buffalo  Courier. 

American  bookcraft  has  produced  nothing  more  elegant 
or  artistic.—Alhantj  Evening  Journal. 

If  there  is  such  a  thing  as  an  art  amounting  to  poesy  in 
book-making,  the  enterprising  publishers  may  certainly 
be  said  to  have  achieved  it  here.  This  edition  is  some- 
thing of  which  our  country  may  well  be  proud.  We  thank 
Messrs.  Harper  for  having  shown  to  the  world  that  peace 
has  here  its  triumphs  as  well  as  war.  We  feel  gratified 
to  tliink  that  America  has  anticipated  Europe  in  embalm- 
ing so  fitly  the  memory  of  William  Makepeace  Thack- 
eray.— Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  Thackeray  in  Full  Dres.s."— Fine  feathers  do  not  al- 
ways make  fine  birds ;  but  the  finest  birds  do  not  disdain 
their  fine  feathers,  and  therefore  Thackeray,  if  he  were 
happily  still  living,  with  all  his  scorn  of  finery,  would  feel 
proud  of  the  garb  in  which  he  is  arrayed  by  Messrs. 
Harper  &  Brothers. — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 

These  volumes  are  almost  perfect  specimens  of  book- 
making.  The  type  is  clear,  the  paper  beautiful,  the  bind- 
ing tasteful,  and  the  illustrations,  by  Thackeray's  own 
hand,  have  never  been  better  printed. —iV.l'.i'TC?iMi(;  Post 
A  most  elegant  edition  of  the  works  of  this  greatest 
master  of  English  fiction  of  the  present  age.  In  every  re- 
spect it  is  among  the  most  beautiful  issues  of  the  A^ner- 
ican  press — New  York  Daily  Times. 

Thackeray  deserves  a  lasting  monument— not  a  mere 
bust  in  Westminster  Abbey,  the  British  Pantheon,  but 
under  the  roof-tree  of  every  educated  family.  We  rejoice 
that  Harper  &  Brothers  have  laid  the  first  stone  of  the 
new  and  magnificent  monument.  It  is  indeed  a  reproduc- 
tion, in  such  a  superior  style,  as  regards  fine  type,  care- 
ful printing,  tinted  and  hot-pressed  paper,  delicate  yet 
firm  binding,  and  careful  engraving,  that  it  can  best  be 
briefly  described  as  an  edition  de  luxe.    A  luxurious  edi- 


tion it  is,  worthy  of  the  author,  and  lower  in  price  than 
that  originally  issued  by  the  author  himself.  It  has  nev- 
er been  surpassed  in  execution  here  or  iu  England.  It  is 
superb  in  all  respects.— PhiladeljJhia  Press. 

The  Harpers  are  embalming  Thackeray.  The  odor  of 
sweet  spices  seems  to  hang  about  the  edition  of  the  great 
satirist's  works  which  these  favorite  publishers  are  now 
issuing,  and  the  reverence  of  art  for  genius  is  made  ap- 
parent in  every  detail.  A  more  exquisite  monument  was 
never  dedicated  to  an  author's  memory.  Daintier  vol- 
umes have  seldom  come  from  the  press  in  any  part  of  the 
world — Kew  York  Express. 

The  volumes  are  faultless  in  every  thing  that  pertains 
to  their  mechanical  execution,  and  in  some  particulars  are 
an  advance  on  any  thing  yet  attained  in  the  art  of  book- 
making.  They  are  just  of  the  right  size.  The  printing 
is  of  tlie  best.  The  binding  is  exquisitely  tasteful.  It  is 
so  well  done  as  to  give  us  the  beauty  of  appearance  of 
cloth,  with  almost  the  substantial  character  of  a  firmer 
material.  The  outside  appearance  of  tlje  book  is  a  real 
feast  to  the  eye.  Every  thing  about  it  combines  the  chaste 
and  the  elegant  to  a  -degree  very  seldom  realized. — Nor- 
folk County  Journal  (Roxbury). 

The  tributes  paid  to  Thackeray,  living  and  dead,  by  the 
great  English  nation,  whose  literature  he  heightened  and 
adorned  with  the  generous  outpourings  of  his  genius  and 
tenderness  of  speech,  have  not  had— no,  not  one — such 
solid  worth  and  loving  appreciation  of  the  man  and  author 
as  these  American  publishers  have  shown  in  this  superb 
copy  of  his  works.  An  earnest  lover  of  rare  books  will 
finger  these  volumes  with  dainty  touch— will  turn  the 
page  more  tenderly  for  looking  again  upon  the  tender 
face,  wliich  Lawrence  has  preserved  to  us — will  find  now 
beauties  in  th?m  as  he  slowly  and  softly  touches  each 
golden-tinted  leaf,  eloquent  with  sweet  fancies,  humor 
most  delicate,  wit  keen  as  the  scimitar  of  Saladin,  and 
pathos  deep  and  true  as  the  heart  of  the  great  humani- 
tarian  who  sadly  penned  them.  The  etchings  are  Thack- 
eray's own,  and  tlie  hand  that  copied  them  here  perfonn- 
ed  its  task  with  very  loving  fidelity.  We  accept  this 
tribute  as  the  truest  that  has  been  ever  paid  to  the  great 
humorist,  and  we  feel  a  pardonable  pride  that  we  owe  it  to 
the  enterprise,  taste,  and  liberality  of  American  publish- 
ers.—P/itfarfc^jj/na  Legal  Intelligencer. 

The  binding  is  the  perfection  of  beauty  and  neatness. 
Th'e  smallest  amount  of  gold  upon  a  ground  of  delicate 
green  gives  the  sides  the  refreshing  look  of  a  meadow 
starred  with  a  single  buttercup — Indianapolis  Journal. 
It  is  a  matter  of  almost  national  congratulation  that  the 
first  excellent,  complete  edition  of  Thackeray's  works  is  to 
appear  in  America.  No  more  appropriate  testimony  and 
monument  of  his  genius  could  be  than  the  edition  that 
Messrs.  Harper  &  Brothers  have  projected.  It  would 
seem  that  the  most  loving  appreciation  has  presided  over 
its  preparation.  Thackeray  would  like  to  have  handled 
it,  and  we  can  not  but  tliink  that  his  honest  regard  for 
this  country  would  have  been  deepened  by  such  a  mark 
of  appreciation.  Surely  no  novel  has  ever  been  so  typo- 
graphically honored  in  this  country.  It  is  such  an  editioa 
as  every  lover  of  handsome  books  will  want,  and  every 
appreciator  of  Thackeray  will  have — Hartford  Press. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

Sent  by  Mail,  postage  free,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


ADVENTURES  OF  ARMINIUS  VAMBERY. 


"While  cordially  recommending  Jlr.  Hall's  delightful  volume,  it  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  call  renewed  atten- 
tion to  the  splendid  aeries  of  books  of  discovery  and  adventure  which  Harper  &  Brothers  have  published  within 
the  past  two  or  three  years.  The  list  includes  almost  all  the  works  which  record  the  results  of  original  explora- 
tion, especially  in  the  case  of  Africa,  and  the  admirable  manner  in  which  they  are  printed  and  illustrated,  rival- 
ing the  expensive  London  editions,  indicates  that  a  large  capital  must  have  been  invested  in  the  enterprise. 
The  works  of  Livingstone,  Bartli,  Speke,  Reade,  Du  Chaillu,  Burton,  Gumming,  and  Davis  are  among  these  ever 
Talnable  and  ever  interesting  books,  and  they  should  be  in  every  well-selected  library." — Boston  Tramcript. 


Just  Ready,  with  Map  and  Illustrations,  8vo,  Cloth,  $3  75. 

TRAVELS  IN  CENTRAL  ASIA 

IX  THE 

Disguise  of  a  Dervish, 

From  Teheran  across  the  Turkoman  Desert  to  Khiva, 
Bokhara,  and  Samarcand,  1863. 

By    ARMINIUS     VAMBERY, 

Member  of  the  Hungarian  Academy  of  Pesth  (by  whom  he  was  dispatched  on  this 
Scientific  Mission). 


This  most  remarkable  journey,  so  full  of  graphic  de- 
scriptions, thrilling  incidents,  and  sound  information. 

The  gates  of  China  and  Japan  are  opened,  and  railw.iys 
and  telegraplis  are  in  the  course  of  constructioa  through 
the  very  heart  of  the  lands  of  the  Bible ;  but  there  yet  re- 
mains a  broad  belt  of  country  between  the  Russian  posses- 
sions in  the  north  and  the  British  in  the  South,  where  Eu- 
ropean civilization  has  not  yet  penetrated ;  where  ICurope- 
ans  can  not  enter  except  at  their  peril ;  where  to  hear  is 
regarded  as  impudence,  to  ask  for  information  as  a  crime, 
and  to  tabe  notes  as  a  deadly  sin.  Whoever  wishes  to  ob- 
tain a  glimpse  of  this  singular  country  should  accompany 
Mr.  Vambory,  who,  in  the  disguise  of  a  dervish,  succeed- 
ed in  reaching  the  very  centre  of  Asia,  and  now  places  be- 
fore us  a  narrative  which  stands  out  as  prominently 
among  recent  works  of  travel  as  the  author  himself  does 
among  modern  explorers. 

Mr.  Vambery  tells  his  story  in  a  simple,  unaffected  man- 
ner, and  yet,  from  the  opening  to  tlie  closing  paragraph, 
he  exercises  a  perfect  spell  over  his  readers.  There  is  a 
r<eality  about  the  scenes  and  places  he  describes  that  makes 
us  feel  as  if  we  were  one  of  his  travelling  companions.  His 
dangers  are  our  dangers,  his  sufferings  our  sufferings.  We 
feel  keenly  the  want  of  water  after  a  few  days  in  the 
desert,  and  find  ourselves  behind  the  camels  as  the  fear- 
ful sand-storms  are  sweeping  along.  But  what  are  want 
of  meat  and  drink,  surprise  by  robbers,  sand-storms,  in- 
extricable swamps,  fatigue,  and  all  the  other  thousand- 
and-one  dangers  and  difficulties  of  the  journey,  to  the  ter- 
rible task  imposed  by  the  assumed  disguise  ?  For  ten  long 
months  we  must  wear  a  mask.  Nobody,  not  even  those 
•who  have  given  the  strong:st  proofs  of  attachment  to  «s, 
must  know  that  we  are  Franks.  F.very  wiird,  mien,  or 
action  of  ours  must  be  unnal.  Our  "  make-up"  must  be 
perfect,  and  without  any  previous  reliearsal  we  are  ex- 
pected to  take  a  leading  part  in  a  farce  which  at  any  mo- 
ment m:iy  develop  into  a  serious  tragedy.  To  displease 
our  public  by  any  awkwardness  in  our  acting  would  lie 


followed  by  our  condemnation — our  certain  death.  •  •  • 
The  author  has  accumulated  a  vast  amount  of  geograph- 
ical, ethnological,  political,  and  commercial  information 
whicli  is  of  great  value. — London  Reader. 

Arminius  Viimbjry,  a  Hungarian  gentleman,  furnished 
with  special  firmans  by  the  Sultan,  travelled  as  a  dervish, 
and  penetrated  into  the  region  from  which  so  few  Kurope- 
ans  have  escaped  alive.  As  a  Mussulman  he  walked  about 
^Yhere  he  would  unmolested,  hearing  all  the  residents  said, 
watching  them,  and  their  creeds,  and  tlieir  dialects,  as  no 
European  has  ever  been  permitted  to  do.  The  volume  is 
full  of  information  about  places  and  tribes  of  wliich,  as  yet, 
Europe  knows  exceedingly  little — London  Spectator. 

Deeply  interesting  and  instructive,  as  giving  us  a  per- 
sonal and  practical  knowledge  of  the  inner  life  of  a  people 
hitherto  impei-fectly  known  to  us,  but  who  over  and  over 
again  had  played  an  important  part  in  the  history  of  the 
old  world.  It  may  he  long  before  we  ag;\in  meet  with  a 
book  the  materials  of  which  have  been  collected  under  con- 
ditions so  singular,  and  which  is  at  the  same  time  so  au- 
thentic and  reliable. — London  Examiner. 

It  has  made  large  and  valuable  additions  to  our  knowl- 
edge of  the  condition  and  character  of  the  populations 
of  Centr.al  Asia.— Lo?i(foJi  Press. 

Mr.  \7imbery  has  collected  a  great  deal  of  important  in- 
formation as  to  the  political  and  commercial  relations  of 
the  countries  which  he  visited.  We  know  through  him 
a  great  deal  more  than  we  ever  knew  before  about  Klii- 
va,  Herat,  "  Bokhara  the  Noble,"  and  Khokand — John 
Bull. 

Mr.  Vambery  is  an  extremely  lively  n.arrator,  who  dwells 
with  keen  relish  on  all  the  incidents,  pleasant  or  unpleas- 
ant, which  befall  a  traveller.  His  volume  is  written  in  an 
easy,  cheerful  style,  and  illustrated  with  clever  and  cliar- 
acteristic  sketches — London  Bevicw. 

We  admire  Dr.  Vambery's  spirit  of  adventure,  his  in- 
trepidity, and  his  perseverance.  He  has  the  art  of  attract- 
ing and  fascinating  his  listeners.— Saturday  Bevicw. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 


Z^"  Sent  by  mail  to  any  part  of  the  United  State,  postage  prepaid,  on  receipt  of  $3  75. 


A  GREAT  NATIONAL  WORK.' 


A  RCTIC     RESEARCHES    AND    LIFE    AMONG    THE     ESQUIMAUX  : 


I\ 


Being  the  Narrative  of  an  Expedition  in  Search  of  Sir  John  Franklin,  in  the 
Years  i860,  1861,  and  1862,  By  Charles  Francis  Hall.  With  Maps  and 
100  Illuftrations,  beautifully  engraved  from  Designs  by  Charles  Parsons,  Hen- 
EY  L.  Stephens,  Sol.  Eytinge,  W.  S.  L.  Jewett,  and  Granville  Perkins,  after 
Sketches  by  Mr.  Hall  and  Photographs.  8vo,  Cloth,  $4  50  j  Half  Morocco, 
$6  50. 


EXTEACTS  FROM  CRITICAL  NOTICES. 


The  -work  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  as  well  as  one 
of  the  mo3t  instructive  yet  written  on  the  subject  of 
Arctic  adventure  and  research,  and  is  especially  valua- 
ble for  the  information  it  gives  us  respecting  the  inhabit- 
ants of  those  regions  of  snow  and  ice.  Mr.  Hall  acquired 
the  language,  familiarized  himself  with  the  habits,  and 
entered  into  social  relations  with  the  Esquimaux,  and  his 
reproduction  of  them  in  his  boolc  is  done  with  dramatic 
as  well  as  descriptive  felicity.  The  descriptive  power  of 
the  -writer  has  been  ably  seconded  by  the  engraver  in  this 
volume.  The  illustrations  are  of  striking  force  and  ex- 
pressiveness, giving  in  pictures  what  the  writer  gives  in 
words Boston  Daily  Evening  Transcript. 

We  can  not  be  too  thankful  to  Mr.  Hall  for  this  most 
interesting  account  of  his  firs't  expedition.  We  give 
it  the  highest  praise  in  our  power  when  wc  say  that 
in  all  respects  it  is  wortliy  to  stand  by  the  side  of 
Kane's  account  of  his  last  expedition.  Which  should  hold 
the  first  place  we  will  not.venture  to  say.  Whichever  may 
he  first  or  second,  there  ia  no  other  work  on  the  subject  at 

all  worthy  of  ranking  with  either  c  f  them America^i 

Publishers'  Circular  and  Literaiij  Gazette. 

An  addition  of  the  first  importance  to  the  present  lim- 
ited librai-y  of  Arctic  literature. 

Itis  Mr.  H.iU's  fiiculty  of  making  himself  at  home  among 
the  natives  that  gives  his  book  its  interest  to  the  general 
reader.  It  gives,  with  the  fidelity  of  a  photograph,  and 
yet  with  the  color  of  a  painting,  a  picture  of  life  among 
the  Esquimaux.  Not  merely  Esquimaux  life,  but  life 
among  them.  The  wann  nature  and  large  humanity  of 
the  explorer  seem  to  have  received  the  tribute  of  apprecia- 
tion at  the  Innuit  hands  that  they  well  deserved,  and  to 
have  won  the  confidence  and  affection  of  them  all. 

Mr.  Hall  applied  himself  with  all  his  energy  and  perse- 
yerance  to  the  task  of  becoming  an  Esquimaux,  and  of 
making  thorough  explorations  of  the  country  where  he 
found  himself.  His  book  will  show  how  fully  he  carried 
out  his  purposes.  Those  persons  only  who  have  had  the 
privilege  of  looking  over  his  original  notes,  made  in  the 
snow  huts  or  skin  tents  of  the  Innuits  after  hard  work  had 
consumed  the  day,  can  entirely  appreciate  the  fidelity  of 
the  narrative. 

We  are  sure  that  in  this  book  we  have  the  absolute  tnith 
given,  not  from  memory,  but  noted  down  hi  the  midst  of 
snows. — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

Full  of  the  most  interesting  and  instructive  incidents, 
narrative,  and  adventure;  it  is  life  among  the  Esquimaux, 
graphic  and  picturesque .V.  1'.  Observer. 

As  a  hook  of  travels  this  volume  is  one  of  rare  excellence 
—the  book  of  the  season—and  quite  equal,  in  both  its  lit- 
erary character  and  in  the  strange  and  stirring  events  it 
records,  with  any  of  the  many  works  of  the  kind  from  the 
prolific  publishers.  A  capital  volume  for  the  long  winter 
evenings.— A''.  Y.  Christian  Advocate  and  Jour 7Uil. 

The  author  lived  among  the  people,  and  did  not  merely 
pass  through  the  country:  and  accordingly  he  has  been 
able  to  give  us  a  great  deal  that  is  really  new  and  valu- 
able.— y.  Y.  Home  Journal. 


Crammed  with  exciting  incident,  far  more  thrilling 
than  any  thing  to  be  found  in  fiction.  A  man  who  has 
eaten  scraps  of  whaleskin  and  raw  walrus  hide  may  cer- 
tainly claim  to  have  seen  adventure,  and  there  is  plenty 
of  it  here.  The  letter-press,  paper,  and  illustrations  are 
excellent. — St.  Louis  Republican. 

The  author  does  not  content  himself  with  merely  detail- 
ing his  adventures  in  the  Arctic  Regions,  but  endeavors  to 
make  us  acquainled  with  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  the 
races  of  men.  He  spent  much  time  among  the  Esquimaux 
tribes,  learned  their  language,  became  familiar  with  their 
manners  and  customs,  and  ingratiated  himself  into  their 
confidence.  His  narrative  is  deeply  interesting.  He  tells 
much  that  is  new,  and  in  a  style  singulaily  fresh  and 
graphic.  lie  gives  us  a  far  better  insight  into  the  social 
life  of  the  Frozen  Regions  than  is  furnished  in  the  work 
of  Dr.  Kane.  The  work  is  illustrated  by  a  large  number 
of  well-executed  engTuviuga.— Albany  Evening  Journal. 

Full  of  interest. — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

A  very  important  addition  to  the  books  of  Arctic  ad- 
venture. In  the  specialty  of  life  among  the  Esquimaux 
the  work  is  the  most  intelligent,  thorough,  and  interesting 
account  that  has  yet  been  furnished.  With  a  keen  and 
curious  observation,  he  saw  and  noted  every  thing  that 
was  unique  or  peculiar  about  the  Esquimaux,  and  as  the 
result  of  this  has  given  us  a  very  racy  and  interesting  vol- 
ume.  Though  Mr.  Hall  modestly  disclaims  any  merit  of 
literary  style,  none  of  his  readers  will  fail  to  find  in  him 
graphic  power  as  a  narrator.  He  makes  the  most  of  what 
is  novel  or  picturesque  that  comes  in  his  way,  and  tells 
his  story  often  with  truly  graphic  effect.  This  is  seen 
particularly  in  some  of  its  dramatic  episodes,  as  well  as  in 
those  descriptive  portions  which  relate  his  adventurous 
boat-journey,  and  his  vivid  account  of  the  Aurora  Borealis. 
We  know  of  no  book  of  Arctic  travel  which  is  better  wor- 
thy to  be  called  entertaining  than  this.  It  is  superbly  il- 
lustrated throughout  with  some  of  the  most  spirited  draw- 
ings and  carefully-finished  engravings  which  American 
art  has  yet  attained. — Roxbury  Journal. 

He  brings  the  bond  of  human  brotherhood  around  thig 
degraded  race  most  feelingly — commending  them  to  an 
interest  that  even  the  graphic  pen  of  Kane  fails  to  awaken. 
— iV.  Y.  Examiner. 

Intensely  interesting— the  result  of  one  of  the  most  re- 
markcable  individual  enterprises  on  record. — Salem  Rcg'r. 

Of  absorbing  interest.  It  reads  more  like  a  romance 
than  a  grave  description  of  travels.  We  dismiss  HalVs 
Arctic  Research  Expedition  with  reluctance.  We  earn- 
estly advise  our  readers  to  purchase  the  volume  and  read 
it  from  beginning  to  end.  No  more  entertaining  or  in- 
structive book  has  been,  or  wiU  be,  given  to  the  public 
this  season.— iV.  Y.  Dispatch. 

His  adventures,  suflferings,  perils,  his  daring,  and  his 
safe  return,  are  told  in  a  narrative  of  great  simplicity,  but 
of  absorbing  interest A  Ibany  Atlas  and  Argus. 

In  hia  Arctic  Researches  Mr.  Hall  has  been  successful  to 

a  degree  that  has  filled  the  world  with  his  fame Troy 

Daily  Times. 


THE    NEW    NOVELS 


PUBLISHED  BY 


HARPEK  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 


Sent  by  Mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  tlie  United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


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